


Tumblr Ficlets, 2015 - Present

by gloria_andrews



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:45:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_andrews/pseuds/gloria_andrews
Summary: Just wanted to get all of these in one place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who gave me a prompt over the past few years!! 
> 
> Some of them are pretty short, sorry about that. :)))

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said when you thought i was asleep. Larry

Harry could admit he’d been something of a grump that morning. A little cranky, maybe. It wasn’t his fault, though! Louis’s ridiculous dog, Suzanne, had come bounding into their room around 5:15 am, leaping onto the bed and somehow stepping on all of Harry’s tender parts every time she put a paw down. What was Harry supposed to do? Just roll over and go back to sleep?

That was actually pretty much what he’d ended up doing, only with a lot more outraged shouting and a bit of disgruntled pillow throwing, but it’s not like he’d have ever wanted or tried to hurt the dog! So it was completely unfair that at that moment he could hear Louis next to him, on the phone to his mother, talking shit about Harry and his dog relations skills because he thought Harry was still sound asleep.

“No, Suzy’s alright,” Louis said, in his dog person’s voice – full of love for his precious, slobbery angel. He paused and pitched his voice lower, like he was about to reveal something dark and scandalous. “Harry’s just, you know… a cat person.”

Harry sat upright in bed, his jaw dropping open. “Excuse me?” he rasped out, incensed, his eyes still half-shut. He started flattening out the bunched-up duvet cover all around him with indignant little smacks. “There is nothing wrong with being a cat person! You knew that when we moved in together! Did you forget or something?” he placed an affronted hand on his chest, scrunching up his whole sleep-puffy face, “and Suzanne seems to like me well enough when I’m taking her for a walk every single day at lunchtime! And letting her on the couch!”

It wasn’t until after he’d finished his mini-rant that he realized Louis was shaking with silent, self-satisfied laughter.

“Oooooh,” Harry groaned, rolling his eyes as he collapsed back into the pillows, fighting off a smile, “you are so annoying.”

“Bye, mum. Gotta go!” Louis giggled. “Mr. Grumps is finally awake, just like I thought.”


	2. The butt lighting prompt!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is an actor doing a very artistic bare butt scene, and Harry is the lighting tech who has to figure out how to light his butt properly. (A prompt by the wonderful 100percentsassy)

“Um,” Harry squeaked.  He swallowed heavily and took a step back from the actor in front of him, ducking at the last second to narrowly avoid banging his head on the light he had just positioned.  “You’re – You’re, um, you’re not a stand-in…”

“Nope!” Louis Tomlinson replied, cheerfully, his eyes bright as he watched Harry bumble about.  

_Louis Tomlinson, movie star._   Harry thought, his heart pounding.   _Louis Tomlinson, Oscar Nominee.  Louis Tomlinson, the primary source of your great, teenage sexual awakening._

Harry avoided eye contact and crossed the small set to fiddle with the diffuser in front of his soft lighting source, even though it definitely didn’t need to be fiddled with anymore at this point.  His hands started to shake when Louis trailed after him, his gaze intent on Harry’s face.   

“Were you expecting one?” Louis asked, leaning in even closer.  “A stand-in?”  

“What? Um, No… No,” Harry mumbled.  His fingers felt like slippery hot dogs on the light stand he was now moving around for absolutely no real reason at all.  “Well.  Yes. Yes, I was,” he admitted.  

“Oh!” Louis said, straightening up to his full height and standing like a beautiful, diminutive superhero in his blue terry cloth bathrobe with his shoulders squared and his hands on his hips.  “Well, I’m Louis Tomlinson!”  He announced after a beat, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand.  

Harry almost winced as their hands slid together, his had gone so sweaty since Louis had appeared.  “Harry Styles,” he managed to get out.  

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Louis said, as their hands pumped up and down.  He was smiling that smile that Harry loved so much, the one where his eyes crinkled.  There was a hint mischief on his face that made Harry’s knees weak.  “Just let me know when you need me!”   

“Nice to meet you, too,” he croaked back, his mouth dry, “and I will.”

Harry turned back to his lights with wide eyes, fumbling in his brain for something, anything else he could feasibly need to do before he asked Louis to – to disrobe.  

_Lord. Please give me strength_.  Harry thought, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore Louis’s presence at the edge of the set.  

Harry had been nervous enough, just being hired as a part of the crew for this movie at all. Working under legendary cinematographer Beatrice Von Holt before he turned twenty-five was a dizzying dream come true, and being asked to personally take of the lighting for a pivotal, moody, semi-nude scene was a terrifying, but exciting honor.  

That was before he knew he’d be working directly with Louis Tomlinson and Louis Tomlinson’s perfect bare butt.  

_I am going to ruin it with a boner.  I’m going to get a boner and ruin my whole entire life._

Harry took another deep, calming breath, trying to center himself.  

He’d mostly been able to avoid Louis so far – Harry knew he’d make a fool of himself if they interacted – but he’d watched Louis get along with all types of people around the set, and it had been nice to know he was as kind and down-to-earth as Harry had always hoped.  Right now, though, Harry couldn’t help but wish that Louis was the type of spoiled, prima donna actor that would balk at being asked to help light a scene.  Harry was used to that.  Anyone that worked in movies was used to that.  

Instead, Louis was standing in his bathrobe, waiting patiently for Harry to recover from the full scale nervous system collapse that his absurd physical attraction to Louis had sent him spiraling into.    

_You are a professional.  This what you are going to do with your life.  There will be lots of butts.  Bare butts.  Get it the fuck together._   

“We’re all set,” Harry said at last, licking his lips and turning back toward Louis.

Louis nodded, his hand going toward the sash on his robe as he stepped forward.   

Harry gestured loosely toward the mattress Louis was supposed to lie on.  “Over on the couch. The bed,” he choked out, blushing furiously as Louis’s robe dropped to the floor.

“Like this?” Louis asked, artfully draping himself over the unmade bed and snuggling his face into one of the many pillows.  

Harry nodded, blinking hard and breathing out heavily through his nose.  He wasn’t sure, but he thought Louis may have smirked at his reaction.  

It couldn’t be helped though.  

They were using a soft front light/hot backlight scheme for the scene, and the result was captivating on Louis.  Bathed in the diffused glow of the front light, he looked honey dipped and perfectly proportioned, the graceful curve of his spine a gorgeous, shadowed hollow down his back.  And his ass.  Good Lord, his ass!  

“Are you going to have to hold that light meter thingie right by my butt, then?”  Louis asked, a little gleeful, breaking Harry out of his thoughts as he jutted his chin toward the tool in his hand.  

Harry cleared his throat.  “Yes,” he said, with as much steady dignity as he could muster.

Louis was grinning now, his face half-obscured by the bedding.  “‘Kay, warn me when you’re closing in.  I’ll try not to fart in your face.”

Harry threw his head back and let out a sharp bark of laughter before clapping a hand over his mouth.  

“That’s better,” he heard Louis whisper, and he felt some of the nervous tension melt out of his body.  

“Permission to approach?” Harry said, shaking the light meter side to side in his hand so Louis knew it was indeed time.  He surprised himself with how cheeky it came out, and a thrill ran through him, heating his face and chest when Louis replied.   

“Granted,” Louis said, his tone wonderfully prim and teasing.  His smile widened as Harry drew closer, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat when he realized Louis was attempting to hide it in the pillow.  

Harry began take various light readings around Louis’s body, and he surprised himself with his own daring again as he began to hum while he worked.  He could feel his pulse everywhere, in his hands and cheeks and even his stomach, as he waited to see if Louis would pick up on the meaning of the song.  His heartbeat accelerated quickly when he realized Louis had joined in like he’d hoped.

“Hmm hmm hmmm hmmmm,” Louis hummed, before he picked up with words, “won’t you come out tonight.  Come out tonight.  Come out tonight.”

Harry was barely holding back his laughter when he started to sing as well.  “Buffalo girls won’t you come out tonight and dance by the light of the moon.”

“Oh my god,” Louis groaned, shaking with silent laughter as he squirmed a little against the bed.  He sounded delighted as he went on.  “What a terrible, terrible pun, I’m – I’m embarrassed for you.”

Harry just giggled, completely unembarrassed by how cheesy he was being and struggling not to grin too wide.  He hadn’t felt this happy with himself in quite sometime, it was intoxicating how well this suddenly seemed to be going.  

“It’s a nice moon,” he whispered with a shrug, a pulse of adrenaline running through him at the pleased blush that bloomed on the back of Louis’s neck in response.  

“Thanks,” Louis said.  

“You’re welcome,” Harry said.  He affected a much sterner tone of voice as he continued, his dimple still deep. “Now, stop moving so much, please.  I can’t get an accurate reading on things unless you hold still.”   

Louis let out a few last giggles and settled into place.  “Yes sir!” He said, smiling at Harry over his shoulder.  He let out a contented sigh, murmuring smugly, almost to himself. “I told Beatty it would be better if you didn’t use a stand-in…”

“Much, much better,” Harry said back, softly.  He knew he’d be spending a lot more time lingering by the craft services table, hoping to be flirted with in the next couple of weeks.   

Louis didn’t let him down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Larry

“Last night was fun, huh?” Louis said, wandering into the kitchen in his pajamas.  

Harry was busy rummaging through the refrigerator looking for his leftover Chinese food, and he was glad that Louis couldn’t see him roll his eyes.  They’d gone to Bruisers the night before, and it would never be Harry’s first choice of drinking location.  He didn’t like the low ceilings and the dim lights and the stupid leather furniture.  He especially didn’t like how Louis always flirted outrageously with the bartender, Gregory.    

“Yeah… ”

Louis was staring at him intently when he finally closed the door to the fridge with the correct styrofoam container in hand.  Harry ignored it at first, navigating awkwardly around Louis in the cramped space, but he could feel the calculating intensity of Louis’s gaze on the back of his neck, and he gave in after he’d gotten a fork.

“What?” he asked around a mouthful of cold kung pao chicken.  

Louis raised his eyebrows.  “You didn’t have fun.”

“What? Yeah, I did,” Harry said.  It sounded unconvincing to his own ears, and Louis’s eyes narrowed further.

“No you didn’t.”

Harry shrugged, squirming a little.  “Yeah, I did. It was fine. I had a lot of fun.”  

Harry and Louis had been flatmates for about a year and friends for much longer, and Harry knew the Louis was the type of person that somehow got a little personally offended if everyone hadn’t had the same great time that he’d had, when they went out.  It made a weird sort of sense to Harry.  Louis was the life of the party – beautiful and bright and always laughing – so if you rejected the party you were rejecting Louis.  Or at least, that’s how he reacted.         

“You are a terrible liar,” Louis grumbled, leaning over to steal some of Harry’s chicken, picking it right out with his fingers. “Niall and Liam had fun.”

“I’m sure they did.”  

Louis frowned, his eyebrows knitting.  He chewed on the inside of his lip, like he was debating whether to say something or not.  “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Harry almost dropped his food.  

“What?” He set the container down, leaning back against the counter with his heart pounding and his face burning hot.  Harry almost couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been in love with Louis, and he’d always suspected Louis maybe knew, but he’d never thought his tone would be so… accusatory if he ever called Harry out on it.  

“You know exactly what I mean,” Louis said, his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side.  Harry’s heart clenched even more.  Louis always looked extra attractive to him in the mornings.  Sleep puffy and hair fluffy, clothes so soft.  “At the bar…”

Harry took a deep shuddering breath, steeling himself for what he felt sure was impending heartbreak.  He felt almost sick to his stomach.   

“You’re so… “ Louis went on, his voice strangely pinched with hurt. “Like, judgmental sometimes, Harry.  I mean, I am not the only person in the world who flirts.”

“Wait, what?”  Harry huffed out a laugh of surprised confusion.

“It’s not like I’m sleeping around a ton,” Louis continued to ramble. “And honestly it shouldn’t matter if I did.  People can do what they want.”

Harry shook his head, still on the verge of bursting into ridiculous, manic laughter about Louis misinterpreting his behavior so much.  “I know that.  I don’t think it’s wrong for you to flirt with people, Louis.”

“Well, then why do you get so fucking grump-faced and sulky – “  Harry could see it on Louis’s face the moment he figured it out, eyes wide.   Harry was bathed in adrenaline, his hands trembling and his skin tingling.  

“Oh,” Louis whispered.    

Harry nodded, the motion jerky as he stared fixedly at their cruddy kitchen floor. There was a terrible lump in his throat and now he felt dangerously closed to crying.  

“You’re jealous?” Louis voice was so full of fragile hope and wonder that Harry’s head snapped up immediately in response, eyes locking on Louis’s.

“I – um,” Harry stuttered, blood thundering in his ears. “Yes.”

He’d seen Louis smile so many times, but never quite like this before, utterly radiant and gleeful – it was like a direct beam of joy across the small space between them, and Harry was so beyond happy that he felt a little faint.  

“Oh,” Louis said again, crossing over to Harry and slowly looping his arms around his neck.  He blinked up at Harry before he kissed him, eyes bright. “You should have said something before.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.” "I swear it was an accident.” Larry.

They were probably going to be late.  It was already 1:30, the service started at 2:00, and it took at least twenty five minutes to get to the church in the most ideal traffic conditions.  They were probably going to be late, and Louis’s mother was going to kill him.       **  
**

“I don’t even know why we’re invited to this stupid wedding, anyway,” Louis ranted to himself as he jammed his feet into his dress shoes, a little frantic.  He’d met his cousin Suzanne maybe twice his whole life.

“Do you have the present, Harry?” he called out, casting about for his keys and wallet.  “Harry? Do you know where it is?”  Louis paused in the living room waiting for a response with his hands on his hips, almost tapping his foot he was so impatient. Harry had been taking an actual century to get ready, and Louis had had enough. “What is the god damn hold up.”

He stomped toward their bedroom muttering under his breath as he burst through the door.  “Hey, have you seen the – Oh.”  Louis buried his face in his hands, groaning out a long-suffering, but highly amused laugh. “Oh my god,  _Harold_.”

“I swear it was an accident.”  Harry’s voice came out by what must have been the jut of an elbow, muffled by the very small sweater he was currently trapped inside.  His head was entirely obscured by fabric, his arms at odd angles inside, one hand sticking out the top.    

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d intentionally do this to yourself,” Louis snorted, still laughing as he approached, “but I am assuming you did try it on on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Would you just help me!” Harry yelped, motioning at Louis with his visible hand and wobbling into the bed.  “I can’t get it off.”

Louis glanced at his watch, they would most definitely be late now, but the stress of it seemed to have dissipated as soon as he’d seen Harry, his general ridiculousness warming Louis’s heart. He snickered and snapped a picture on his phone.   

“ _Lou!_ ” Harry whined.  

“You didn’t even ask me if you could borrow it,” Louis giggled, “I’m going to be upset if I have to cut it off you.” He’d already started to tug at the fabric as he spoke though, finally yanking it up and off Harry’s head after a bit of a struggle.

They both broke into soft laughter as soon as Harry was freed, Harry’s a bit sheepish, his cheeks pink.  

“Shut up,” he mumbled, trying to straighten his hair and his tie. “I thought a sweater might look nice under my blazer…”

Louis grinned at Harry, suddenly ridiculously endeared.  “I’m sure you’d have looked very sharp,” he said, leaning for a kiss.  “Now, hurry up! My Aunt Paula thinks everything is a slight, and we’re already late as it is.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry, 14 "hey I'm with you. always."

Someone plopped down onto the couch next to Harry without acknowledging him, and Harry pressed closer to the armrest, clutching his empty beer cup and wishing he were at home.  Louis’s bright laugh rang out from somewhere in the kitchen, and the dull ache in Harry sternum grew sharper.  He sighed.

Louis.  That’s why he wasn’t at home.  That’s why he hadn’t left.     

Harry shook his head, squeezing the flimsy plastic of the cup until it cracked a little.  He was disappointed with himself for feeling so out of his depth and so awkward, and disappointed with Louis for inviting him somewhere and then abandoning him almost immediately.  At least it was a big enough party that no seemed to notice Harry didn’t have anyone to talk to.

The two other people on the couch were laughing uproariously now, drunkenly taking up much more space than were entitled to, and Harry scooted even further to the side, wincing.  

_What am I doing?  Why am I doing this?  When he clearly doesn’t –_

Harry shook his head, finally resolving to get to his feet.  He heard Louis laugh again, and his heart sank further, his disappointment compounding on itself.  He felt foolish, so much younger and obviously less cool than everyone around him.  It suddenly seemed possible that despite wanting to see Harry almost everyday and texting him constantly and smiling at him with a dopey goofiness before kissing him, Louis didn’t really like him all that much, after all.  

 _It’s just kissing.  You’ve only been kissing.  It probably doesn’t mean – I mean, to him.  It probably doesn’t mean…_  Harry set his ruined cup down on an end table and shuffled toward the front door.

They’d only been doing whatever they were doing for about a month – since Louis had come back from university for the summer – but Harry knew he was already infatuated with Louis.  Somewhat in awe of him, actually.  Louis was two years older, beautiful and popular and good at everything.  Sometimes it felt like a miracle he’d ever started to pay attention to Harry at all.  Right now it felt like a strange sort of curse.  

Harry was just going to sneak out, send Louis a text that he’d gotten too tired and had to go home, when he stepped to the side to let someone else pass and lifted his head, catching Louis’s eye in the kitchen from across the house.  

He could tell Louis had read his intention to leave right off his face, and he squirmed in place, balling his hands in his sleeves and feeling incredibly embarrassed.

Louis was over to him in less than a second, and the concern etched in his brow just made Harry feel even worse.  “Hey,” Louis said, softly. “Are you – um, are you going?”  

Harry bit his lip, nodding. “Yeah, just feel like,” he shrugged, his shoulders hunched, “um, tired?”  

Louis’s eyes kept moving over Harry’s face, even though Harry wasn’t making eye contact, and he rubbed at his lower lip like he was trying to figure something out.  “Let me grab my jacket, I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to – ”

“I want to walk you home, Harry,” Louis said, his voice firm.

Harry shrugged again and gave a brief nod of resigned agreement, waiting awkwardly by the front door while Louis grabbed his jean jacket from one of the bedrooms.

They walked the first few blocks back to Harry’s parents place in tense silence, weaving their way down the middle of the quiet street.  Harry wrapped his arms around his torso.  It was still summer, but there was a bite in the air now, a reminder that fall was coming and Louis would be going back to school.    

Louis stopped suddenly, under the glow of one of the street lights, blinking at Harry when he turned to look at him.  It seemed like he was building up to saying something.

 _Probably about to let me down, easy._   Harry thought, almost giving a bleak laugh when he realized how naive he’d been about relationships before this.  They’d only been doing a bit of kissing, but Harry had never done any kissing at all before, and he’d had no clue how much something like this could consume him.  How much it could hurt.

Louis scratched at his eyebrow and then let out an actual pained laugh of his own, his shoulders slumping apologetically.  Harry swallowed hard, bracing for what was going to come.

“I guess I really fucked up tonight, huh?” Louis said, his voice timid.  

Harry’s heart stuttered, his eyes flying up to meet Louis’s.  “What?”

“I mean, at the party,” Louis said, contrite, “I’m sorry.  That was – ” he shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself. “I’m really sorry I left you like that.  I should have checked in with you.   I let you down.  I should have – ”

“I mean, I did feel awkward and stuff, but it’s okay,” Harry mumbled, even though it hadn’t been.  He was relieved, of course, but also somehow even more embarrassed to have Louis addressing it this way.  A little ashamed that Louis would have to take care of him, like some kind of social liability.  

Louis gave him a look. “No, it’s not,” he insisted.  He scrubbed his face, obviously frustrated, “I get, like, caught up sometimes…” he sighed, “other people have told me. Like, Zayn has told me, I do that.  It’s not okay. I don’t want you to think – like, I don’t want you to think you can’t come up to me or tell me you want to leave, or you need me or whatever.  I’m really sorry.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered, shrugging and staring at the ground.  He still felt a little small, but he was also impressed by Louis’s ability to apologize and accept responsibility for his actions.  It helped just knowing that Louis had noticed something was wrong.    

“Hey,” Louis said, pausing and waiting for Harry to look up at him.  He looked stricken as he took Harry’s hand. “I’m with you.  Always.  Okay? I  _really_ like you. Even if I’m being a thoughtless idiot, like I was tonight.  I – I know we haven’t really talked about it yet, but – but I want…” Louis let out a nervous laugh, shifting his body weight from side to side.  Harry realized he’d been holding his breath, and that his heart was pounding.  Louis gave him a tentative, hopeful smile. “I want to be like, together? Like properly together, if, um, if that’s what you want – ”

Harry cut him off with a hug, pulling Louis against him so that Louis’s face was buried in his neck.  

Harry had been naive about how happy something like this could make him, too.  About how special it all felt.  It was so overwhelming and intense he thought he might burst from it sometimes, his body and heart too full to hold it all in.  He hadn’t been able to fathom it in his wildest, dreamiest daydreams, before that summer.  Before Louis.     

“I want that.  I want that, too,” he whispered into Louis’s hair.  

Louis smiled against his neck, kissing it once, then twice. “I promise I’ll be a much better boyfriend than I was tonight.  I’m going to be the best boyfriend you’ve ever seen because that’s what you deserve.”   

Harry nodded, huffing out a laugh and squeezing Louis closer.  Louis was so ridiculous sometimes, in just the right way for Harry.  Over the top, but serious at the same time.  Harry knew he meant it.  Louis really wanted to do his best for him, and Harry was definitely going to give him a chance.    

“I like you the most,” Louis whispered, “okay? Out of everyone. So don’t be afraid to tell me when I’m being a dick.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Harry said, laughing again and beaming down at Louis, his heart light.  It felt so wonderful to know where they stood. Harry put on an air of haughty innocence and barely contained his laughter when he continued, “I’d say you should do the same for me, but I’m an absolute angel, so…” he shrugged. “probably won’t be necessary.” 

Louis barked out a laugh and his grin turned wolfish. “Of course, of course,” he murmured, rising up on his toes so that his lips were hovering right over Harry’s.  Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “100% angel, that’s you.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?" Larry

For as long as Harry had been playing rec league kickball, he’d been losing at.  Four years, and never once had his team, Zilkowski Dry Cleaning, had a winning record at the end of the season.  Harry didn’t mind.  It’s not like they  _always_  lost, and honestly, he’d only really signed up so he had an excuse to go out for beers with Niall and Liam at least twice a week during the summer.  

What he  _did_ mind was losing to perennial league champs, Furniture and Appliancemart Superstore.   Zilkowski Dry Cleaning  _never_  beat Furniture and Appliancemart Superstore.  They always lost.        

Harry hated Furniture and Appliancemart Superstore.  

“Checkin’ the schedule to see when we play Furniture?” Niall had asked, popping into Harry’s cubicle as soon as the schedule of play had been emailed out that year.  He raised his eyebrows twice.  “I know you’re probably excited we have to play him twice this year.”

Harry’d turned his office chair, keeping his face blank. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Niall had burst out laughing, leaving Harry to grumble under his breath in peace.

Okay, so maybe Furniture and Appliancemart’s team captain was kind of good-looking — in a sun-kissed, physical embodiment of summer sort of way — but that did not mean that Harry was in love with him.  No matter what Niall said, the truth was that Louis Tomlinson drove Harry nuts, and not in a Beatrice and Benedick kind of way.  

Louis Tomlinson always pitched, and every time he pitched against Harry, he smiled at Harry and then winked, and it threw Harry completely off his game.  Harry wasn’t a whiffer!  He didn’t whiff!  He always managed to at least connect his foot to the ball!  That’s why Liam always had him kick third.  

Against Louis, Harry whiffed at least once.  Every time.  And Louis’s smile would always go even wider and then Harry would usually whiff again on the next pitch.  It was humiliating.  

Which was why now, on this beautiful night in late July, Harry was glaring at Louis from the dugout as Zilkowski Dry Cleaning took their first turn kicking.  Harry was on deck to be on deck, and he was trying to quell his nerves by thinking dark thoughts about Louis.    

 _Of course, he’s pitching.  He always pitches. More like a dictator than a team captain if you ask me…_   

By the time it was Harry’s turn to kick, he’d worked himself into quite a state.   _Not a whiffer.  Not a whiffer._ He told himself, as he approached the batter’s box.  

“Styles,” Louis said, smiling that wicked smile of his.  The one that scrunched up the skin by his beautiful eyes.

Harry swallowed hard, giving the briefest of nods in response.  

 _Not a whiffer.  Not a whiffer.  Those mesh shorts aren’t fair._  

Louis winked.  

Harry whiffed.  Twice.  And then he grounded out to third.  

Niall made sure to give him a hard time of it as they jogged out to the outfield.  “Should probably talk to Liam about moving you down the batting order every time we play Furniture, huh?” He said with a cackle, patting Harry on the butt.  

Harry ignored him, stomping over to left field and decapitating three or four dandelions to get his frustration out.  

Louis played brilliantly the whole game, of course.  Not only was he good-looking, he was agile and athletic and obviously took joy in the game and the people around him, too.  Harry could always hear Louis’s bright voice echoing across the field as shouted positive encouragement to his teammates.  

Harry’s subsequent turns kicking went much the same, and before he knew it, the game was over and Zilkowski Dry Cleaning was at the White Pig, celebrating another loss to Furniture and Appliancemart Superstore.  

Furniture and Appliancemart only came to the White Pig every once in a while after games, so Harry wasn’t even aware that Louis Tomlinson was in the bar until he went to get another round, and Louis appeared beside him at the bar.  

“Styles,” Louis said, leaning against the bar on his forearms, his posture mirroring Harry’s.  He nudged Harry with his left elbow, smiling.  

“Hi,” Harry croaked.  

Louis winked.    

Harry blushed hard, a shock of adrenaline running through him.  He turned to stare resolutely forward, pretending Louis hadn’t rattled him.  Louis always rattled him.  

 _Well,_ Harry thought, tapping his fingers on the bar top as he waited for the bartender to come back with his drinks.   _At least I already ordered.  Can’t biff that up.  All I have to do is pick up the beers and walk back to our table.  I can do it.  I got this._

 _“_ Here you go,” the bartender said, setting three IPAs down on the bar in front of him and taking his credit card.  Harry didn’t recognize her, she must have been new. “Close it?” she asked.

Harry nodded, chewing at his lip and feeling twitchy.  He could still feel Louis Tomlinson’s eyes on him.  

The bartender handed Harry the receipts and a pen, and he added a tip and signed quickly.  “Thanks,” he said, getting his hands set up to lift three pint glasses at once.  He took a deep breath, Louis’s eyes were definitely still on him.  He could almost feel the air of amusement wafting off of him.

“No problem,” the bartender said, about to turn toward the person to Harry’s left,  “Enjoy your drinks.”

“You too!” Harry chirped, just as he lifted the pints off the bar.  He froze, eyes locking with Louis’s when he realized what he’d just done, blushing worse than before.  

 _You too!   You too!_ He stood stock still holding three pint glasses in his hands and watching Louis Tomlinson’s mouth twitch as the words echoed in his mind.  

And suddenly they were laughing together.  Genuinely laughing together so hard that Harry had to set the pints back down on the bar so he could recover. 

Louis’s eyes twinkled, his small shoulders shaking.  He gave Harry a soft look when the worst of the giggles had subsided.  “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

Harry lowered his eyes, pink cheeked.  He peered at Louis through his lashes, still grinning sheepishly.  He’d gone a little heady, exhilarated that the nervous tension he always felt around Louis had finally been broken.  He couldn’t help but notice that Louis seemed just as pleased.

“Tell you what,” Louis said, nudging Harry with his elbow again, pressing closer. “How ‘bout I buy all three of us a shot, when it’s my turn?  Then she’ll actually have a drink, too.”  

Harry tossed his head back and laughed, nodding.  

The next summer, Zilkowski Dry Cleaning still lost to Furniture and Appliancemart Superstore, but Harry didn’t have any trouble at all kicking against Louis Tomlinson.  He only whiffed a few times on purpose to make Louis laugh.  It was hard to be too intimidated by someone when you’d been dating them for about a year.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wish I could hate you.” Larry

Harry had only been at Niall Horan’s housewarming barbecue for about thirty-five seconds before he realized that Louis was there too. He was happily setting out the various elements of the bruschetta he’d brought on the buffet table, when he heard an unmistakeable laugh and froze, slowly lifting his eyes to see where it had come from.  

 _Fuck_. Harry’s stomach dropped out of his body, the shock to his system so sharp it felt oddly like his whole left hand might have gone to sleep in an instant, covered in pins and needles.  

There he was.  Louis Tomlinson.  

It was the first time Harry had seen him in two years, and of course he was looking better than ever before.  Easily stylish and so handsome in a beautiful white button down shirt and khaki shorts — his limbs golden tanned and toned, the lines of his body at their most aesthetically pleasing.  Louis's hair was soft and short, falling onto his forehead the littlest bit — just how Harry had always loved it most.  

Harry felt another sick tug of sadness in his stomach when Louis scrunched his face up in easy amusement at something Liam had said, and he immediately busied himself with adjusting the other dishes people had brought to pass.  He kept moving them around the table to create more space for other late arrivals and pretending he wasn’t having an intense mental and physical reaction to Louis’s mere presence.  

 _How can he be so fucking relaxed?_   Harry thought bitterly as he fanned the paper napkins out into a more artful display, his hands shaking in agitation.  _Like nothing fucking changed.  Is he just going to pretend nothing happened?  Beer.  I need beer._

Harry made a beeline to the cooler, grabbing the first bottle his hand closed around and casting around for a bottle opener as he tried in vain to regroup.  It was Niall’s barbecue and Harry knew he could invite whoever he wanted, but a heads up would definitely have been nice.  

“It’s a twisty.”

Harry nearly dropped his beer at the sudden proximity of the familiar voice.  Louis shrugged, giving him a crooked smile as he deposited his empty beer in the garbage bag designated for recyclables.

“It’s a domestic,” Louis explained, when Harry just stared at him blankly, slowly dying inside all over again as he remembered two years ago.   Two years ago when Louis, a year into a graduate program in Germany, had broken up with him over Skype.  His voice had been so gentle as he’d explained why he didn’t think they should be together anymore.  Why he thought it wasn’t working, and that it would be good for them, to see what it was like to be single.  

 _Good for us._   Harry thought sarcastically, still clutching his beer,   _Convenient for you, you mean._

Louis gestured toward the Harry’s bottle since he still hadn’t moved, making an untwisting motion with his hand and wrist. “Most domestics you don’t, um — you don’t need a bottle opener.”

 “Thanks,” Harry finally said flatly, uncapping the bottle with more force than was necessary and then taking a long pull.  He swallowed down a bitter laugh, thinking about how irritatingly classic it was, Louis abandoning him for Germany and then coming home to teach him unwanted lessons about American beer.  

  _I bet all German beers need an opener.  Every last fucking one.  Why don’t you regale me with lots of trivial information about your travels, Louis._   

Harry took another few gulps of the beer, self-recrimination stinging in his chest.  He was still so bitter.  So pathetic.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Louis was working up to say something else, so he turned away abruptly, marching off to go talk to Leigh-Anne.  

Louis didn’t even know Leigh-Anne.

 _See, my life went on without you!_   Harry wanted to shout, as he crossed the lawn.   _I made new friends!  I didn’t fucking miss you!_

He engaged Leigh-Anne in a conversation about work, chatting with her about her students and how the end of the school year went and what she was planning on doing for the summer, but the truth was he was completely mentally checked out.  He kept telling himself just to leave.  He had free will, he could leave this party.  But he couldn’t actually bring himself to do it, and he knew exactly why.  It made him want to sneak into Niall’s house and cry in the upstairs bathroom. The one he’d helped Niall paint the first weekend he’d moved in, when he was still fixing it up.

His heart clenched.  It kept betraying him by replaying happy memories with Louis.  They’d gotten the okay from their landlord and painted their first apartment together, giggling about Harry looked like Shredder from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with his paint mask on.  

“You’re mini-Shredder, then,” Harry had said, and Louis had chased him around the room with a paint brush.  And then kissed him.

 Harry didn’t talk to Louis until the end of the night.  Not until the acquaintances who’d just been stopping in had all gone home, and it was just Niall’s closest friends.  

Louis found Harry, hiding out on the swing on the front porch.  Harry knew he’d been searching him out.  

“Hey,” Louis said softly, clearly not intending to sit down unless he had permission. “How are you?”

Harry’s grip tightened on one of the chains of swing, almost to the point of pain.  He swallowed several times to keep his emotions at bay.  “Did you know I would be here?” he finally asked after a minute, ignoring Louis’s question and staring at one of the porch pillars behind him.

Louis took a deep breath, he nodded.  “Yes, I did.  That’s why I came.”

A laugh punched out Harry, wounded and wet.  

“I’d really like to — “  Louis cut himself off, shaking his head.  His voice was soft and full of emotion.  He tried again. “How have you been, Harry?  Because I’ve —“

“I wish I could hate you,” Harry interrupted, completely failing to keep the helpless frustration and tears out of his voice.    

Louis took a tentative step toward the swing, waiting for Harry to give him the okay to sit down beside him.  Harry looked up at him and let out another wet laugh, his heart lurching.  He nodded.

Louis lowered himself down onto the swing carefully, keeping a good inch or two between their sides, and still Harry shivered slightly when their shoulders brushed against each other.  They sat in silence for a few minutes before Louis spoke again.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Louis asked.  

Another bleak laugh burst out of Harry’s chest, and he shook his head.  Both because no, he wasn’t seeing anyone, and also because only Louis would be bold enough to ask that question, given their situation.  

 _Only Louis.  It was always only Louis._   

“Are you?” Harry shot back, his irritated amusement clear in his voice.

“No,” Louis said, barely letting him finish the question.  “No, I never — No.”

Harry let out a long sigh, relief washing over him.  He’d wasted so much time over the past two years, picturing Louis with some blond, well-built German boyfriend named Klaus, who’d take him to terrible clubs with horrible techno music where they would have such a great time together.

Louis’s hands were twisting together in his lap, and Harry knew he was working up to saying something again.   This time he let him.  

“I know — ”  Louis sighed, rubbing at his face.  “I know it will take some time… I not expecting — “

Harry had to ball his hands up in tight fists to resist the urge to reach out and comfort Louis.  Even after all this time, it was his first instinct.

“I want to be in your life, Harry,” Louis blurted out, his eyes wide and earnest, almost beseeching. “I know I don’t deserve — but, but now.  I’ll be here.  And — as friends, even.  I mean — “ Louis’s voice broke, and paused for a second before going on, “I missed you so fucking much,” he whispered, voice pinched against tears, “always.”  

Harry could hear so much in it, the same mix self-recrimination and sadness and longing that Harry had been battling against these past two years, except the self-recrimination was for a different reason.  Harry heard regret, and he saw it there too, in Louis’s eyes.  “I was such a fucking idiot — “  

“Louis,” Harry said, stopping him.  He took a deep breath of his own.  He was still so hurt, he knew that.  Still angry and confused and upset, and part of him wanted to hold onto that anger, wanted to use the bitterness inside him it to punish Louis for what he had done, make him hurt even more — just like Harry had hurt.  But seeing Louis now, with his open, honest face, the anger seemed to drain out of Harry instead, and he just felt exhausted by the prospect. He knew, deep down, that this was Louis, and no matter what, he would always want to be a part of Louis’s life, too.  

Always. 

“You’re right,” Harry said, slowly reaching out to cover Louis’s hands with his own. “It’s going to take some time.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you…well, I mean — I could give you a massage?” Marcel/Louis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marcel Forever!!!! :)))))

This was the third consecutive night that Louis and Marcel had stayed late at work together.  Louis was used to staying until 5:30 or 6:00 every once in a while, but with their software conversion project going live at the end of the week, they’d been stuck in Marcel’s stuffy office until 7:00 or 8:00 at night lately, powering through dinner as they worked out bugs and ironed out last minute details.  It looked like tonight they’d be staying even later than ever.    

Louis sighed.  He’d run out to get sandwiches for dinner, and he felt a pinch of concern as he stood in the doorway, watching Marcel work.  Marcel was hunched over his computer with a deeply furrowed brow, his heavily gelled hair breaking free of its forced taming and falling into his face.  Every few minutes he’d rub at his back and neck, wincing, but getting right back to typing and scrolling.    

 _He needs to fix that chair._ Louis thought, shaking his head in frustration.   _He knows he needs better lumbar support._   

“Got you a roast beef,” Louis said, announcing his returned presence.

Marcel turned, his face lighting up when he turned to Louis.  He pushed his glasses up his nose.  “Horseradish?”

Louis nodded, smiling at Marcel’s open delight.  

He hadn’t known what to expect when they’d gotten assigned to run this project together.  Marcel was something of an enigma around the office, shuffling around quietly in his oddly old-fashioned outfits and keeping to himself.  He was a real whiz kid, though, everyone knew that, and Louis had been a little intellectually intimidated when they first got started.  He needn’t have worried.  Marcel was brilliant, but he wasn’t arrogant; He was always opened to Louis’s suggestions.  

Marcel had slowly come out of his shell over the past few months, and getting to know him felt like a little bit of a revelation to Louis. They had a very similar sense of humor, and Marcel was endearingly passionate about the so many things — the best water fountain in the building, the highest quality brand of pencil, how to properly count down to your upcoming vacation — so they had lots of heated, hilarious debates.  Marcel really was a big nerd, but so was Louis, and Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun at work, even with a deadline hanging over their heads.    

Louis settled into the chair next to Marcel, unwrapping his own sandwich and wordlessly accepting Marcel’s unwanted pickle spear.  They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes while they ate.    

“I got that error worked out of LoanServ,” Marcel said, leaning back in his poorly adjusted chair and stretching his arms over his head with a groan, once he’d finished eating.    

Louis bobbed his head, swallowing hard and trying not to stare to hard at Marcel’s endless upper body.  “Good.  Good.”

It had only occurred to Louis that he maybe, probably, definitely had a little bit of a crush on Marcel about two weeks ago.  After he’d abruptly realized that much of his pre-sleep bedtime fantasizing centered around Marcel bashfully asking him on a date and confessing his devotion. Louis kept picturing Christmas with Marcel and several small children with bright green eyes wearing pull over sweaters, too.    

 _They’re not even sexual fantasies_   He thought, feeling mildly sick to his stomach about the intensity of his feelings as he watched Marcel putter around the office, tossing their sandwich wrappers. His gaze dropped to Marcel’s large, elegant hands and lingered there.  He rolled his eyes at himself.   _Okay, they’re not_ only _sexual fantasies_ …

Marcel dropped back down into his chair, wincing yet again and rubbing at his lower back.  

Louis made a tutting sound of disapproval.  “You need to fix that chair, Marce,” he scolded, “It’s obviously hurting your back, sitting in it and hunching over all day.”

Marcel blushed a little, looking a bit flustered over Louis’s concern.  “I’m fine, Lou,” he mumbled, “just a bit tense from the stress.”

Louis gave him a disbelieving look, his eyes narrowing in on Marcel as he leaned forward to place his hands back on the keyboard.  “See!” he yelped,  when Marcel winced again, making an aborted move to rub at his back.  

“Okay, fine!” Marcel moaned. “It’s hurts! This chair is jammed though,” he threw his hands up in the air, “I don’t have time to search out another one with everything going on! I just want to work!”

“Well, you’re working too hard,” Louis shot back, getting to his feet to examine the supposedly non-adjustable chair.  

Marcel frowned, turning his head so he could see Louis behind him.  “No harder than you.”

Louis pulled at his bottom lip, considering.   His pulse picked up a bit at what he was about to suggest.  “Do you…well, I mean — I could give you a massage?”

They blushed simultaneously as soon as the idea was presented, Louis squirming with embarrassed vulnerability.  

“Um,” Marcel whispered, his hands twisting together in his lap.  He peeked back at Louis with the tiniest of shy smiles on his face, his throat bobbing.  “Well, I mean — O-okay…”  

Louis nodded decisively, his nerves sparking he positioned Marcel’s in the chair how he wanted him.  “Good,” he whispered, trying to calm himself with a few deep breaths.  His face was still warm, and his hands shook ever so slightly as he placed them on Marcel’s broad shoulders.

Marcel let out a rumbling groan of pleasure as soon as Louis’s thumbs pressed into his muscle, and Louis’s whole body went bright hot in an instant, his heart rate shooting through the roof.   He had to bite down on his lip to keep from cursing under his breath.  

 _Christ._   Louis thought, shifting his weight as he began to knead Marcel’s back.  Marcel let out little whimpers of approval every few seconds, and Louis was growing more and more aroused by each one.   _What on Earth were you thinking?_

“Oh,  _Lou_ ,” Marcel whined, when Louis pushed him forward a little so he could get at his lower back. “That’s so good.  Right there.”

Louis huffed out a sigh, determined to distract himself from how wildly turned on he was. “I knew it.  You’re riddled with knots!” he said, pushing his thumb into a particularly stubborn one.

Marcel only hummed in agreement, sighing in pleasure yet again.  

“For someone with such strong opinions about office supplies, your attitude about your chair makes no sense,” Louis pointed out, miraculously managing to keep his voice light.  He wondered if Marcel had any idea of the effect he was having on him.  

“You know how much I hate the basement…” Marcel murmured, sitting back up so Louis could work on his shoulders and neck again.  All of the spare office furniture was kept in rusty cages in the dank basement.  Louis didn’t blame Marcel for avoiding it.    

“I’ll go down there with you,” Louis offered. The sound Marcel made when Louis slipped his hands up into Marcel’s hair to rub at the base of his skull was so absolutely indecent that Louis almost wanted to scold him for it.  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down.  He’d definitely started to chub up in his pants now, and the last thing he wanted was for Marcel to think he was some kind of creep.  

“See, you don’t want to go down there alone either,” Marcel said, his smile audible in his voice as he moved into Louis’s touch.  

“You’re right, I don’t.  It’s gross.” Louis admitted with a snort, setting his hands back down on the tops of Marcel’s shoulders and keeping them there. “We’ll need each other for moral support.”

Marcel made another happy sound of pleasure at the words, and Louis thought he actually might die when Marcel tilted his head to the right and nuzzled his face against Louis’s forearm. “This was so nice of you, Louis,” he whispered, “I really needed it.  Thank you.”

“You’re — You’re welcome,” Louis stammered, trembling with longing when the nuzzling didn’t stop.  He gave an awkward shrug.  “Just wanted to be of help…”

Marcel let his head loll back so  he could see Louis.  Louis breath caught.  Marcel looked almost debauched.  His hair was in disarray, cheeks pink, eyes dark behind his glasses.  “You are so much help, Lou,” he whispered, not breaking eye contact as he reached up and tangled his finger’s with Louis’s.  

Louis’s heart was hammering as they continued to stare at each other, beat after beat after beat.    

“Marcel.” Louis pleaded, even though he didn’t know exactly what he was asking for.  He felt so heady with desire he though he might have sway on the spot if Marcel hadn’t been holding his hand.  

“Kiss me.” Marcel’s voice came out ragged and desperate, and Louis didn’t have to think twice.  He swiveled Marcel’s chair around and cupped his jaw so he could angle his head just right, bringing their mouths together as quickly as he could.

Louis exhaled heavily through his nose, sighing into the kiss in utter and ecstatic relief.  Vivid pleasure radiated through his body, pulsing down his arms and legs and actually curling his toes.  

Marcel’s legs had fallen open by the time they broke apart, and Louis was standing between them, their chests rising and falling in unison.  Marcel pulled Louis even closer, pressing his face into Louis’s stomach and nuzzling just a little again. Louis’s heart jumped with affection in response, and he titled Marcel’s face up again.  

“Would you like to um – have dinner this weekend?” Louis asked, flushing with pleasure all over again because of how completely happy Marcel looked.  

“I would,” Marcel said, his whole face split by a huge grin.  “I would love that.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said when you were drunk. Zarry

Harry was a maudlin drunk.  Everyone knew.  He made highly emotional toasts about friendship in the middle of parties and frequently demanded that people remind him of exactly how they all met over the years, once the night was winding down.  He tended to give a lot of wistful sighs and smile at Zayn all twinkly eyed from across whatever room they were in while they were drinking, that kind of thing.     

He was in particularly fine form as they meandered home from Niall’s flat that evening.    

“I mean, it’s only because Louis worked at that one restaurant for a month and a half that we even know Liam at all!” he pointed out, letting Zayn guide him around a corner with a hand on the small of his back, since he hadn’t really been paying attention to where they were going.  

Zayn nodded in agreement, smiling small.    

“Are you laughing at me?” Harry asked, coming to a stop.   

Zayn shook his head, even though he was indeed laughing softly now.  He stopped too, turning to look back at Harry, his smile widening at what he saw.  

Harry wasn’t angry about the laughter, of course.  He was pleased.  Pleased, and still drunk in the exact way Zayn loved the most – where the flush from the alcohol made everything about him seem just a little rosier.  Cheeks pinker, lips redder, eyes somehow a brighter green.  

Zayn shook his head and snorted at himself, rolling his eyes.   _He’s supposed to be the sappy drunk and here I am comparing him to a fucking flower in full bloom._

“What?” Harry asked, teetering a little on his boots.  He looked even more pleased now, like he always did when he thought maybe Zayn was thinking good thoughts about him.  

Zayn huffed out another laugh, rolling his eyes at Harry this time. “Nothing,” he said, shrugging, “just thinking about how pretty you are.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry said, his chest puffing up slightly as he preened in complete delight.

Zayn nodded, he felt so full of affection he couldn’t keep a grin off his face. “Yeah,” he said, reaching out and taking Harry’s hand. “Now can we go home?”

“Alright, fine,” Harry said, stepping forward agreeably so they could walk beside each other, “but I’ve got to tell you, Zayn, no one is prettier than you.  No one in the universe comes close.  You know that right?  Of course you do.  It makes me want to compare you to the stars or a galaxy or something.  You know, like, read a bunch of Carl Sagan so I can understand the cosmos better and therefore understand how your face even came to be… ”

Zayn shook with silent with laughter and he squeezed his boyfriend’s hand.  “You are so full of shit, Harry.”

“But you love me, right?” Harry asked, pausing on the street again, his eyes happy and hopeful.

Zayn looked up at him in the summer twilight and felt his heart expand in his chest.  Harry was so ridiculous and so lovely.  He nodded.  “Yeah, I do. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”    

Zayn kissed him. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The paint’s supposed to go where?" Larry

“What’s this?” Louis asked, emerging from Harry’s bathroom with his stash of nail polish.  “Why do you have all these tiny bottles of paint?”

Harry set his book down on the coffee table, laughing.  “It’s for your nails,” he said, miming the motion of painting one of his own.  He hadn’t painted his in awhile, not since before Valentine’s day.  Not since before Louis had started staying with him.  

Louis’s brow furrowed and he frowned at Harry. “The paint’s supposed to go  _where_?” he asked, eyes narrowing into suspicious slits, like they always did when he wasn’t sold on a human custom.

Harry laughed again, leaning forward to grab one of the bottles.  He wiggled the fingers on his left hand to draw Louis’s attention to his nails.  “Your nails.  On your fingers or your toes.” He selected a light, pearly pink. “I think this one would probably look good with your skin tone.”

Louis wasn’t interested in style discussions just yet.  “Humans paint their claws?” he asked, clearly delighted, though he obviously wasn’t quite convinced, yet. “They decorate them?”

Harry couldn’t help laughing again, nodding.  “You haven’t see any ladies on tv with nail polish? Or anyone like, at the store?”

Louis had been there four months already, beamed down into Harry’s backyard in a column of vivid purple light.  Harry had seen it out his bedroom window and assumed his was dreaming.  Or hallucinating, really.   He’d rubbed his eyes and shaken his head and rolled over and gone right back to sleep.  

He realized he’d been neither dreaming nor hallucinating when he woke up the morning to find a beautiful, naked person, bumbling around on his back deck and examining all the objects out there with a strange intensity.  

An alien.  Harry was falling in love with a fucking alien.  

“I don’t know, I guess I thought it was how they grew in!” Louis said, setting the box of nail polish on the coffee table and sitting down next to Harry.  He looked down at his own nails, holding his small hands out in front of him.  Christ, Harry loved his hands.  Louis giggled. “Like, maybe some people got lucky and got red ones or green ones ‘cause that’s how they were born.  I thought, oh too bad, I got the boring ones.” He smirked at Harry, nodding toward Harry’s similarly unpolished finger nails. “And Harry did, too.”

“Want me to paint yours?” Harry asked, chuckling as he whacked the bottle of pink gently against his palm.  

“Yes, please, Mr. Styles,” Louis said.  He smacked his hands down on the coffee table.  “Toes, too, if you don’t mind.”

Harry’s heart flipped over in his chest.  He definitely didn’t mind.  “Anything for you, Lou.”

Louis looked at him then, expression soft, his fingers still splayed on the coffee table.  

“What?” Harry asked.  A tingle went down his spine as he got down to work.  

Louis smiled.  “Just glad it was your backyard if fell into,” he said. “That’s all.”

Harry shivered, his heart flipping over again.  “Me too,” he murmured. “Me too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, I found this waterfall…” Larry

“So,” Harry said, “I found this waterfall…”

Louis groaned, rolling over onto his front in bed and cracking an eyelid so he could squint into the sunlight streaming in through the curtains.  “Wha?”

“I found a waterfall!” Harry repeated. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, beaming down at Louis and looking far too awake for whatever time it was.  

“What do you mean you found a waterfall?” Louis grumbled, pressing his face into the cool sheets. “Like you snuck out in the middle of the night and went exploring? Or you located one on a map?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Harry said, kissing Louis’s bare shoulder.  He followed the kiss up with a loud smack to Louis’s ass.

Louis squawked in outrage, flipping over onto his back and glaring at Harry.  

“Get up!” Harry said, “We only have three days left, and we’re going hiking!”

They’d been in Hawaii for about a week.  Harry had been hired by Ironman to photograph the world championships that year, and had gotten free plane tickets for himself and assistant, plus room and board.  Louis had been ready to just lay down and die on the lava fields at Kona, schlepping Harry’s camera bag around in scorching heat as Harry snapped picture after picture of the lead athletes, but it had been a lot of delicious cocktails on white sand beaches since then, so he couldn’t really complain.  

“You don’t want to like, sit?” Louis asked, cracking an eye open again and giving Harry his most pathetic face. “On the beach, all comfortable?  And then swim when it gets too hot?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “We’ve done lots of sitting and swimming.  Come on, I went surfing with you! We’re going on a hike.”

“Fiiiiiiine,” Louis moaned, sighing deeply and going spread eagle in the sheets in an effort to maximize his comfort-luxuriating before it was snatched away from him.  “You’re carrying the water bottles though.”

“I have absolutely no problem with that,” Harry said, moving around the hotel room in excitement.  “I’m going to put some snacks together!  You are going to love this!  The internet said the Pe’epe’e Falls are beautiful, but that not that many people go see them.  No crowds!”

Louis smiled into his pillow, thinking about the ring he had hidden in one the inner pocket of his suitcase as he watched his boyfriend bustle about.

“No crowds, huh?” he asked, scurrying over to retrieve it when Harry ducked into the bathroom.  He’d been waiting for the perfect moment, and suddenly it seemed like Harry had just presented it to him.  

_Waterfalls! Why didn’t I think of that?  Duh!_

“Nope!” Harry called back, clearly in the middle of brushing his teeth. “No crowds!”  

Louis look down at the black velvet box, and chewed on the inside of his lip.  He didn’t want to risk it and keep it in his pocket for a hike by a raging river.  

“Changed my mind, Harold!” he shouted, grabbing his backpack and placing the little box in one of the small inner pockets and zipping it safely shut. “I’ll carry the water and shit, since you came up with the idea for the hike.  And did like, the research and stuff…”

Harry popped his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth.  He eyed Louis suspiciously. “Okayyyyy,” he said, reluctantly, watching Louis get dressed.  

“What, you don’t think I’m strong enough to carry some Aquafinas and a box of nutrigrain bars?”

Harry rolled his eyes, disappearing back into the bathroom so he could spit.  “Fine with me if you want your back getting sweaty instead of mine.”

Louis snorted, placing the fully packed backpack by the door and joining Harry in the bathroom.  He elbowed Harry as he reached for his own toothbrush.  “Your back will get sweaty either way.”

Harry stuck out his tongue.  “Sweating is good for you,” he said, imperiously, handing the Louis the toothpaste.  “It helps you stay cool.”

“Whatever you say, sweat boy,” Louis said, unable to keep from giggling when Harry prodded him in the ribs in protest.  

He grinned into the mirror once Harry had left the room, a giddy wave of nervous energy and emotion washing over him.  

 _Calm down.  Fuck.  Calm down._   

It took several deep breaths before he was even ready to brush his teeth.

“Hurry up!” Harry called from the other room.  “It’s early! If we leave now, we might have the place to ourselves!”

Louis doubted that, but he’d always be helpless in the face off Harry’s enthusiasm.  He’d always been helpless over Harry altogether, really, right from the very first time they’d met, painting the house of mutual friend, four years before.      

“What?” Harry asked, his brow quirking at the soft look Louis gave him once he’d emerged from the bathroom.

“Nothing,” Louis said, smiling and motioning for Harry to come over to him. “I’m ready, let’s go!”

He tugged Harry into a kiss just before they left the room, making it so slow and sweet that there were stars in Harry’s eyes when they broke apart.

“What was that for?” Harry asked.

“All your good ideas,” Louis said, darting out of the room ahead of him.

About forty-five minutes later, they’d completed a much shorter hike than Louis had expected, tromping past pools of churning water called “boiling pots” to get to the falls.  Harry was right though, there was no one else around, and it was beautiful.

“It can be like super dangerous here when the water level’s high,” Harry informed him, as they stood at the edge of the plunge pool and took in the falls. “People get swept away down by the boil pots.”  

Louis snorted, trying to play it cool even though it felt like the ring might burn a hole right through his backpack he was so hyperaware of its presence. “So you’ve lured me to my death, huh?”

“Well, I’d die, too!” Harry pointed out in protest, and Louis laughed, absurdly endeared.  

“You want a water?” Louis asked, his mouth dry and his palms sweaty as he unzipped the backpack, heart thumping.  

“Sure,” Harry said, distractedly, still staring across the water.  

 _Breathe.  Just breathe.  You got this.  Breathe._  

Louis’s hand closed around the box of the ring and he took it out, placing the backpack down on the ground next to him and then sinking down on one knee.  He felt terrified and foolish and hopeful and so in love all at once.

Harry let out the most absurd yelp when he turned back to Louis, ready for his water.  One hand flew up to his mouth. “Louis!”

Louis swallowed hard, wiping his free hand on his shorts to get rid of the sweat before he took Harry’s.  He had about seven million things he wanted to tell Harry, a billion reasons why he loved him, but he was too nervous to make any type of elaborate speech.  “I love you,” he said, shaking as he stared into Harry’s teary eyes.  “Will you marry me?”

Harry gave a wet laugh, yanking Louis to his feet and into his arms.  “Yes. I’ll marry you. Of course. Yes.”

They swayed together next to the water, repeatedly declaring their love for one another and kissing for several minutes before Harry snorted, leaning back so he could get a good look at Louis’s face.

“What?”

“I knew there had to be some kind of weird reason you didn’t want me to carry the backpack, you jerk!”

Louis laughed, looping his arms around Harry again and holding him tight.  “You got me, Styles.  You got me.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wanna Bet?” Larry

Louis thought Harry had probably been pissed off at him all morning, but he didn’t know for absolute sure until Harry was dick to him about the proper scientific classification of killer whales.

“Well, killer whales aren’t really whales,” Louis explained to Niall, wiping at the smear of ketchup on his mouth with a napkin.  They’d stopped for lunch on the way back from the beach, and Niall had said no to fast food, since it was driver’s choice.  They were at a diner.    

Niall gave him a dubious look as he yanked a napkin of his own out of the dispenser.  He winced when he touched it to his face; he was sunburnt.  Harry was sunburnt too, frowning out the window like he wasn’t even following their conversation.  Louis and Niall were courageously attempting to ignore his bad mood.    

“It’s right there in the name, though,” Niall pointed out.  

Louis took another bite of his hamburger, swallowing before he responded.  He shrugged.  “It’s kind of like how koalas aren’t really koala bears… they’re just koalas.”

Niall rolled his eyes, shaking his head again. “Then killer whales would just be what? Killers?”

Louis laughed, shaking his head.  “Okay, bad comparison.  But orca.  Orca is what they’re really called.  And they’re like, porpoises or something?  Yeah, porpoises,  just like dolphins.”

“No, they’re not.”

Louis and Niall both jumped at the sudden sound of Harry’s voice, clipped and deep.  He was still staring out the window, brooding.  

Louis rolled his eyes.  Harry was such a pill when he was in a strop.  Louis was sick of it.

“Uh, yeah,” Louis said, raising his eyebrows. “They are.”

Harry turned toward him with a face fully of snotty challenge.  “Wanna bet?”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Louis asked, dropping his burger back to his plate and gripping the edge of the table.  As annoying as Harry was being at the moment, Louis always hated fighting with him, it made his chest ache horribly.  He could never fully relax until things had been completely resolved.    

Harry shrugged like nothing was wrong, his tone still cool and clipped. “Nothing, just think you’re wrong about killer whales.”

Louis could feel Niall’s eyes darting back and forth between them.  Niall hated conflict, too.  Louis swallowed hard.  The ache in his chest had crept up into his throat, it hurt so bad it felt like he had a blade lodged there.  “That’s not true,” Louis croaked, forcing himself not to break eye contact even though he desperately wanted to.  

“I don’t think you’re wrong about killer whales?” Harry retorted.  

Louis made a scoffing noise of disgust, shoving his plate away from him. He loved Harry.  Really, truly, Louis was actually in love with him, but sometimes he just wanted to smack him upside the head.  Like now.  “No,” Louis said, working overtime to keep his voice from shaking, “I meant, it’s not true that nothing’s wrong.  You’ve been such a dick to me all morning, what is the deal?”

Harry made an irritated sound of his own and turned to look pointedly back out the window.  

Niall coughed into a fist, squirming in place as silence descended over them.  “I, uh,” he stammered after a minute. “I’m gonna go to the toilet.”

Louis sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face after Niall left the table.  Maybe it hurt even more this time because they’d had such a nice weekend before Harry’s mood had turned.  They’d been flirting and touching the whole time, and at one point Louis had thought maybe, finally, this was it.  Maybe he would actually work up the courage to kiss Harry, after all this time.      

“Look,” Louis said, his voice thick because as much as he was fighting against it, he knew he really might start to cry.  The disappointment was cutting that deep. “I don’t know — I really don’t know what I did, this time.  But I do know that I’m sorry.  And I’m sorry if I should know what I did, and I don’t.  Could you please tell me — “

Harry turned again to look at Louis, when his voice broke and he couldn’t quite get it together to go on.  Louis blinked in surprise, Harry’s eyes were rimmed with tears as well.  

“What is it, Harry?” Louis finally whispered, his heart twisting with worry.

Harry shook his head, working his jaw a little, his fists were balled up on the table in front of him.  “Why didn’t you — “ he took a deep breath, obviously steeling himself against something.  His voice was coming out so uncharacteristically quiet. “I heard you telling Niall you were — were probably going to do a semester abroad.  And I know — I know we’re not like… but — “ He shook his head again, opening his pretty green eyes to look right at Louis. “I just though like, maybe… maybe we  _could_? You know? Maybe we could… and I don’t know. Why — why didn’t you tell me?”  

Louis’s heart lurched, a nervous laugh clawing its way out of his throat. “That’s not — I didn’t really mean that,” he explained, one hand still gripping the side of the table.  He felt all sorts of emotion at once, a blazing, heart-thumping hope emerging at the forefront. “I was just like — running my mouth.  Not that I wouldn’t maybe want to, but,” he shrugged, managing to give Harry a crooked, twisted smile, “believe me.  If I were really going anywhere, you’d be the first to know.”

Harry flushed, shredding the napkin that had somehow made it into his hands.  “Yeah?”

Louis nodded, reaching across the table to remove the napkin from Harry’s clutches and take one of his ridiculous hands.  He smoothed his thumb across the back of it. “Never been more serious about anything in my life.”

The laugh Harry let out was strangled and wet and full of relief.  He squeezed Louis hand in return.  “Okay,” he whispered, “good.”

Louis smiled, his own cheeks bright pink.  “Yes.  Good.”

Harry cringed, his expression turning sheepish, he was clearly thinking about his behavior that morning.  “I’m sorry.  I was —  I’m sorry, Louis.”

“Hey,” Louis said, his heart tripping over itself in his chest as his mind ran on a loop of  _Harry Harry Harry, finally Harry.  Mine._   He squeezed Harry’s hand again. “It’s alright.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.“ Larry

Harry couldn’t believe his life had come to this — huddled by himself in a dark, dank shower stall in the third floor bathroom of Whitacre Dorm at 2:00 am, clutching a de-boxed roll of plastic wrap and cursing himself for being so susceptible to peer pressure.  So susceptible to one peer’s pressure in particular, actually.  

“Louis?” Harry hissed in a whisper. “Lou?”

 _Fuck_.

There had been absolutely no sign of Louis since he’d broken for the toilet stalls on the other side of the bathroom over ten minutes ago to make sure the coast was clear, and Harry wished he knew what to do.  Louis was the mastermind of this prank.  He was  _always_  the mastermind of their pranks, and there had been absolutely no discussion of any contingency plans.  It either worked or it didn’t, that seemed to be Louis’s motto.  

Harry had transferred to Jacobs Prep for his senior year, and he’d been hopelessly infatuated with Louis Tomlinson ever since his first day of classes, when Louis had shoved in next to Harry’s roommate Niall on the lunch table bench and proceeded to hold loud, hilarious court.  

It seemed like some kind of strange, wonderful mistake, Louis even paying attention to Harry in the first place.  Louis was the sort of easily beautiful, charismatic kid who shouted jokes out during assemblies that even the teachers laughed at.  He was the type of person that Harry observed from afar at his old high school, and even though they’d been friends for months now, Harry still sometimes felt like an impostor when Louis came and knocked his dorm room door and wasn’t even concerned if Niall wasn’t around.  Harry had somehow become Louis’s favorite, too, and he wasn’t quite sure how.  

Which was why he always went along with all of Louis’s schemes and plans.  And there were a lot of them.  Harry had already helped Louis sculpt a giant snow-dick on the field hockey field, commandeer the announcer booth during a baseball game so they could replace Liam’s normal walk-up song — “Power” by Kanye West — with “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred, and sneak three handles of vodka into Mulgrave Dorm using a trombone case.  Amongst other things.  

“Lou?” Harry tried again.  He’d been standing in the damp for so long that he’d begun to shiver, and he winced when he shifted his weight and the soft squelching of his tennis shoes made it obvious there was a disgustingly slow drain in the stall he’d chosen to hide in.

 _Fuck._   Harry glanced down at the plastic wrap in his hand.  Louis couldn’t do this prank without it.  Without Harry.   _Did he get caught?  He wouldn’t abandon me, would he?_

Louis was determined to get back at Nick Grimshaw for running his tighty whities up the flag pole outside their dorm with a big banner that read “CONNOLLY’S HIT THE SKIDS”.  Connolly being their dorm, and the implication being Louis had shit stains in his underpants.  

Harry huffed out a laugh, alone in the shower stall, thinking about Louis bursting into his room, color high on his face as he explained this all in the most dramatic fashion possible.  

“I have been dishonored, Harold!  Our entire dorm has been dishonored!  We have to strike back!”

Harry worried sometimes that maybe Louis’s battle with Grimshaw was some sort of protracted, antagonistic flirting, so the “we” in the sentence comforted him slightly.  

“We’re going to put saran wrap over the toilet bowls in his dorm,” Louis had proclaimed with wild eyes, obviously riding high on the waves of his own brilliance. “He always gets up half asleep at like 5:30 ‘cause of like, handling the morning announcements and stuff, and he always takes a piss.  The pee will bounce off the saran wrap and splash back all over him!  It’ll be great!”       

Harry’s concerns about urinal usage (“Whitacre was built as a girl’s dorm, there are no urinals”),  the unpredictability of Grimshaw’s morning routine (“You think I haven’t done research, Styles? He  _always_  takes a piss.  Always.  Never a shit.  And always without his contacts in"), innocent bystanders (“You think Grimmy hoisted my undies alone? No way.  All of Whitacre is culpable!  All of it!”), and about there being no way to know for sure if the prank even worked (“Oh, believe me.  If it happens, we’ll hear about it.  It’ll get back to us somehow.”) were quickly brushed aside.  

Harry had still thought there were too many variables to guarantee success for this particular prank, but he’d also known it was pointless to raise any more objections at that point.  “I just want to go on record as saying that this is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had,” was all that he’d said.

“But you’ll help?” Louis had asked, unfazed.  And of course Harry had said yes.  

Harry peered around the shower curtain his was hidden behind.  There was a single, dim fluorescent light at the far end of the row of showers, and the only sound was its hum and the occasional drip of a faucet.   He took a deep breath. Just as he’d gathered all his courage and decided that he would attempt this prank all on his own, he heard Louis call out to him from somewhere down by the fluorescent light.  

“Styles!”

Harry crept quickly down the row of showers on his tip toes, holding the roll of plastic wrap like a relay baton.  “What the fuck took you so long?”

Even in the dim lighting he could see Louis roll his eyes.  “Ben Winston came in all of a sudden and took a shit that lasted about eight years, okay?  I was standing on a toilet the next stall over! I thought I might like, die from the fumes!”

They snickered together, huddling closer, and Harry’s chest warmed right up, his skin tinging and the chill of the shower stall already long forgotten.  

“Come on,” Louis whispered, gesturing so Harry would follow him over to the toilets.  He’d taken a pair of small safety scissors out of his pocket. “Let’s get this over with.”

Working quickly turned out to be harder than expected. They couldn’t stop pausing to giggle over how disgusting it was, crouching down with their faces right by a toilet bowl as they put plastic wrap over it.

“I think I see a pube,” Louis whispered, just as Harry was cutting the plastic off the roll.

Harry froze momentarily, and then glared at Louis with a barely suppressed smile on his face before he continued working.  “You wanna help me trim these edges?” he asked, offering Louis the scissors so he could tidy up the excess plastic that was hanging over the sides of the porcelain.      

Louis shrugged, lowering the seat and then snipping haphazardly.  “He’s gonna be half asleep.  Even if he bothers to lift the seat, he won’t notice.  You do nice work, Styles.”

Harry smiled, pleased.  He was getting an absurd amount of satisfaction over having applied the plastic wrap so well over top of the bowl.  Not even a single ripple.  If he hadn’t done it himself, he wouldn’t have known it was there.  He shot Louis a look, scrunching up his face. “You think the seat in Winston’s stall is still warm?”

Louis groaned in disgust, elbowing Harry in the side, and they huddled together again, laughing softly as they exited the first stall.  “Barf, Harold,” Louis murmured, obviously delighted, “I don’t want to be thinking about his butt.”

Louis was still beaming at Harry as they scurried into the next stall and got back to work, their shoulders brushing and hands knocking together every once in a while.  

It was times like these when Harry felt like they were really team, that he wasn’t just a long for the ride, and his chest went warm again.  He blinked at Louis in low lighting, his heart skipping a beat with the knowledge that no matter what, he’d remember this ridiculous night for the rest of his life.  He’d always remember Louis.    

_Getting all swoony in a bathroom, you idiot?  Get it together._

_“_ What?” Louis asked, rubbing at his eyebrow a little self-consciously when Harry’s dreamy contemplation went on a beat too long.  

“Nothing,” Harry said, holding the plastic wrap out to Louis, ready to pass the baton. “You wanna give it a go?”

Louis shook his head, eyes crinkled up at the corners.  “Nah.  You got this, Styles.  Make me proud.”

Harry nodded.  He would certainly try his best to do so.      

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You did all of this for me?” Zarry

Harry glanced at his watch and winced, hurrying out of the tube station on his way home from work. It was already after five o’clock, his father and his step-mother were coming at six, and he still had to clean the absolute mess of a flat, shower, and get a start on making dinner. If Harry thought about it too hard, he might start to cry.  

It was a horrible time of year for his dad to visit — right at the end of the semester, when Harry had what felt like hundreds of papers to write and hours and hours of revising to do.  Harry had tried to say as much, explain that in addition to all his schoolwork, he was also working way too many hours at the coffeeshop and volunteering at an animal shelter, and a visit before break would only be stressful for him.  Des had refused to hear it.

Harry rolled his eyes as he finally made the turn onto his own street, walking so quickly he was almost running. It felt like lately his dad interpreted everything he did as a slight against his new wife, Sharon.        

 _Fuck_.  Harry fished the key to the building out of his pocket.   _Zayn’s art_.

Harry’s flatmate, Zayn, was incredibly busy with the end of the semester, too.  Which meant he was painting and sketching in their living room at all hours of the day, and his supplies and rough drafts were  _everywhere_.  Not that Harry’s textbooks and teacups weren’t.  

Harry had woken up late that morning, and literally buried his head in his hands and groaned when he’d surveyed the chaos in their flat.  

“Busy day?” Zayn asked, coming out of the kitchen and handing Harry a cup of coffee in a travel mug.  

Harry had mumbled his thanks and nodded.  He gave Zayn a look.  “Did you stay up all night again? You need to sleep, it makes me worry!”

He hadn’t had the heart to ask Zayn to clean up all his art supplies, not when Zayn was so stressed out he’d basically become nocturnal.

“Wonder how Sharon’ll react to that,” Harry muttered, giggling a little as he keyed himself into the building and thundered up the stairs.  

Some of Zayn’s art was… erotic.  Homoerotic, really.  There was usually at least one well rendered drawing of a dick visible in their apartment at all times.  

“Zayn?” Harry called out, opening the door. “Are you gonna eat w— “

The words died in Harry’s throat, and he closed the door behind him slowly, standing in the entryway and not quite believing what he was seeing.  

It felt like the Twilight Zone.  The flat was absolutely, utterly immaculate.  

Gone were Harry’s mountains of textbooks, notebooks, empty teacups, and biscuit crumbs.  The coffee table had been dusted, the floor obviously swept  _and_  mopped.    

Zayn’s corner of the living room had been completely transformed, his scattered rough drafts in a neat stack, his paints and pencils and pens all neatly organized by color.  The painting displayed on the easel was a beautiful study of Harry’s hands, nothing Sharon or Des could object to.

On top of that,  Harry suspected he could smell dinner, already cooking in the kitchen.

“Zayn?” Harry croaked, forcing the name out through the horrible tangle of emotion that was blocking up his throat.  He was so touched he really might cry.

Zayn came out of the kitchen again, just like he had that morning, only now he looked much more well rested.  Stunning, in a dark red shirt and black jeans.  He’d obviously put some effort into his appearance, and that’s what broke Harry.  

“You took a shower?” he blubbered, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.  Zayn had been so caught up lately, he barely stopped to eat.  Harry didn’t think he’d bothered to wash his hair at all that week.  Until now.

“Hey, hey,” Zayn murmured, walking forward and pulling Harry into a hug. He rubbed at Harry’s back through his coat.  “Why don’t you go jump in the shower, I promise I’ve got something bland and British cooking for dinner.  Sharon’ll be alright.”

Harry sniffled into Zayn’s shoulder, slumping against him.  He’d been so worried and worked up all day, his relief was so overwhelming it felt like a rubberband that had snapped inside him, and he suddenly felt like he needed Zayn to help support his weight.  

“You did all of this for me?” he asked, his lower lip still wobbling when he finally pulled back to get a good look at Zayn.  

Zayn’s cheeks went pink and he rolled his eye.  “For Sharon,” he said, shoving at Harry a little, “You’re not that important.”

Harry laughed and then sighed happily.  He tugged Zayn in slowly for a sweet, lingering kiss.

The kissing was new, only a few weeks old.  Harry wasn’t sure what they were doing, but he  _really_  didn’t want it to stop.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, when they broke apart.  His heart skipped a beat when he saw that Zayn’s cheeks were even pinker than ever.  

Zayn kissed him one more time.  “You’re welcome,” he said, then he pushed Harry toward the bathroom, “now go!  I’ve got this!  You need to shower!”

Harry stumbled off down the hallway, unwinding his scarf and smiling as he went.  

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” Larry

Louis was still desperately clinging to sleep, face down in the sheets with a pounding headache that he knew was only the beginning of what promised to be a terrible hangover, when someone cleared their throat behind him. Louis winced at the sound, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter and snuggling further into the bed, vaguely aware that there was now someone else in the room, trying to get his attention.

 _Just a few more minutes. A few more minutes_.

That’s all Louis needed. If he could just sleep a little bit longer, he swore he’d never drink again.  He promised.  

_Just a few more minutes._

This time the throat clearing was more pronounced, and Louis made a grumpy sound of protest in response, something close to a growl as he latched onto a nearby pillow and clung to it like a stuffed animal.

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Louis’s grip tightened on the pillow In his arms as he went rigid with shock, completely alert in a split-second. The voice that had asked the question was coming from the doorway and it was droll and deep and seriously sexy and Louis was suddenly painfully aware that he was indeed naked under the bedding.  The majority of his ass was covered, but he could feel that the tangled sheets that covered him dipped low enough on his waist that it was entirely obvious he wasn’t wearing any underwear.  

“Who — What the fuck?” Louis tried to ask, his voice hoarse with disuse. He was so flustered, his heart pounding so wildly, that he almost attempted to flip over onto his back before he had the sheets properly wrangled, and narrowly avoided exposing himself to this strange intruder.  He collapsed on his front again, defeated. “What are you doing in here?”        

There definitely hadn’t been any other men in the house when Louis and Gemma had consumed half a bottle of vodka together the night before, toasting the end of the school year out on the back deck that over looked the water.  Ten weeks without students definitely warranted a celebration.    

The man in the doorway snorted. “Um,” he said, clearly entertained by the situation, “I live here. That’s my bed you’re in.”

Louis finally turned over, modesty now firmly preserved by the sheets, and he squinted into the offensively bright light of the room, trying to figure this all out.

“Hiiiiii.”  The man drew out the vowel sound in the word, giving a little wave and smiling openly.  

_Oh my god._

Louis was staring at maybe the most attractive human being he’d ever seen. Tall and dark-haired and dimpled, he was peering at Louis with an air of cheeky, sparkle-eyed amusement that made Louis’s heart skip a beat.  There was something vaguely familiar about him.

"Oh my god,” Louis groaned, covering his face with one hand and feeling like a complete idiot he that hadn’t realized it sooner.  "You’re Gemma’s little brother.“

Gemma’s little brother barked out a laugh, nodding in confirmation. "I’m Harry,” he said, moving into the room — his room — and extending a hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you.”  

“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis croaked back in embarrassment, as he let go of Harry’s huge hand and started to cast about, looking for something to wear.  “I am so, so sorry.  I didn’t know — I’ll get out of your way as soon as I… “  

Gemma hadn’t said anything about her brother being a her family’s lake house for the week, much less living there, and Louis was going to kill her as soon as he found his clothes. His eyes darted around, scanning the floor and furniture around Harry.  Louis had stupidly left his duffle in the entryway, since it had seemed of the utmost importance they start the revelry immediately upon arriving the night before, but for some reason the outfit he’d been wearing yesterday didn’t seem to be anywhere in this room, either.  

 _Where are my god damn clothes? Why is this happening to me?_   

“Don’t worry about it.  I know who are you, Gem’s told me all about you,” Harry said, waving him off. He giggled and shifted his weight, drawing Louis’s attention to the bundle that had been tucked under his left arm this whole time.  Harry held it all out to Louis, grinning. “Is this this what you’re looking for?  I found them in the yard.”

Louis felt himself go bright red, staring at his grey t-shirt, khaki shorts, and boxers from the night before as memories of his frantic run down the lawn toward the lake with Gemma came rushing back to him all at once.  They’d both shed their clothes at top speed as they pelted toward the water, hollering about summer at the top of their lungs before they jumped in.    

“Oh my god,” Louis whispered, nodding as he reached out slowly to take the clothing.  “Thank you.”

Harry laughed again, this time a little sheepishly.  “Hey, seriously, don’t worry about it,” Harry said, looking more handsome as ever as he a regarded Louis softly. “I was just teasing.  Believe me, I have done more than my fair share of drunken skinny dipping in that lake…”

Louis nodded and his mouth twitched up into a little smile. He kept squeezing the ball of clothes in his lap and trying not let himself be overwhelmed by thoughts of his best friend’s brother naked.  

Harry buried his hands in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt now that his hands were free.  He seemed a little nervous suddenly, rambling when he continued to talk.  “I didn’t mean to like, freak you out or anything. I just like, got back early and found the clothes and then I was going to ask Gem who was staying over after I um, got settled in and then I saw you and — “

“Oh my god, Harry!  Are you harassing my guest?” Gemma appeared in the doorway looking as hungover as Louis felt, bleary eyed and crazy-haired, all swallowed up in oversized sweats.  At least one of them had put on clothes before going to bed.    

Harry turned to glared at his sister and Louis started to laugh.  “It’s fine.  He was just being polite, see?” Louis held up his clothes. “Returning my clothes to me.”  

Gemma laughed, manhandling her brother out of the room and shoving him toward the kitchen. “You have to make us breakfast since you didn’t tell me you would be back so soon.”

She came hurrying back into Louis’s room, jumping on the bed next to him, her eye bright despite the hangover.  

“What?” Louis said, not trusting the way she was smirking at him.

Gemma laughed, shoving Louis on the shoulder and grinning him.  “He is the biggest liar.  He definitely knew you were here.  I told him we were coming and showed him a picture of you a few weeks ago and he was like… ‘he’s cute’,” she snorted with laughter after doing the impression. “With like, this super intense look on his face.”

Louis blushed, pleasure flooding through him at the idea of Harry finding him attractive.  

Gemma rolled her eyes, flouncing off the bed as she headed toward the hall. “Do not be surprised if he proposes to you before the week is over, okay?”

“Okay,” Louis whispered, trying to calm the fluttering in his stomach as he pulled his t-shirt on over his head.  Suddenly his hangover didn’t seem that bad after all.        


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please, don’t leave.” Marcel/Louis

It was only three weeks into the semester, and Marcel was already finding it difficult to concentrate during his 10:55 am Russian History lecture.  He’d sit and stare blankly past his professor instead of taking notes, completely distracted by thoughts of Louis Tomlinson fucking him.

It was mortifying, and Marcel would never admit it to anyone else, but sometimes all it took was the repeated tap of a pencil on a desk, or a persistently creaky chair – the slightest, most ridiculous reminder of the steady, rocking rhythm of Louis’s hips from the night before – and Marcel’s blood would go hot and his cheeks would too, and he’d be half-hard in an instant, subtly shifting in his seat.  

The memories always hit Marcel like a train, his senses dialing all the way up as heat flashed through his body. It was so visceral and overwhelming that it seemed like even his pulse was beating in time with the remembered rhythm of the fucking and that everyone else in the lecture hall must be able to tell exactly what he was thinking about.  

That particular Friday morning, the images flashing through his mind were so vivid that Marcel actually squeezed his eyes shut against them, clenching his fists in his lap and trying like hell to focus in on his Professor’s voice as she droned on and on about the historical importance of Nizhny Novgorod.

It didn’t work.  

Marcel couldn’t stop thinking about Louis moving between his splayed thighs, choking back little moans as he drove into Marcel again and again with a sure hand moving on Marcel’s cock. He couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of Louis’s sparse chest hair under his fingertips or the sound of his crappy dorm bed squeaking under their combined weight.  He couldn’t stop thinking about how their sweat-slicked skin had pressed together and the way the cords of Louis’s neck had strained when he came inside of Marcel.

The thoughts were like a constant drum beat in Marcel’s mind.   _Sex.  Sex.  I’ve been having sex.   Sex with Louis Tomlinson._

Marcel was new to sex in general — he hadn’t even actually kissed someone until he’d gotten to college — so while he was constantly overwhelmed by sense memories of the experiences, he simultaneously couldn’t really believe it was actually happening to him.  How could he, Marcel, with his awkwardness and insecurity and unusual fashion-sense have possibly ended up getting to do it with someone he was so viciously attracted to?  With someone so golden and beautiful and confident, like Louis?  

 _But it’s sex.  It’s just sex.  That’s — that’s probably all he wants._ Marcel winced, shifting uneasily in his seat for an entirely different reason now.  He tried desperately to grab onto to the thread of his professor’s lecture, not wanting to have to acknowledge the hurt in his heart.  

It was always there — low-level and lingering, a special sort of rejection.  Because lately it felt like Louis always managed to disentangle their bodies as soon as they finished – up and out of bed and struggling back into his jeans before Marcel’s heart rate had even settled.  

 _He can’t get away from me quick enough.  Why am I even doing this to myself?_  

Marcel always wanted to stop Louis.  Huddled, naked and vulnerable under his jersey sheets, he always wanted to at least try.  Wanted to reach out for Louis’s arm when he started to roll out of bed.  Wanted to cuddle him close and just stay together for a while.  Wanted to say what he was thinking.   _Please.  Don’t leave.  I like you._  

He never did.  

Even after a month of sleeping together, Marcel was too shy to ever initiate physical contact.  He’d wait in his room, listening to the sound of Louis laughing down the hall with Niall, and hope and hope that Louis would stop by, hating how lonely he felt the nights Louis didn’t.  

That’s how it had started — alone on their dorm floor the week before school started, Louis’s head had appeared in the doorway and he’d asked Marcel if he wanted to get dinner.  Three hours later they were watching Jane the Virgin and cracking each other up by doing their best Rogelio impressions, and Louis had kissed him.

There hadn’t been any dinner invitations since school had started, though.  

 _Is he ashamed of me, now that everyone’s here?_    _Is that what it is?_   Marcel tried to push his fears from his mind, scribbling barely legible notes about the Volga down in his notebook.  He was paying so little attention to the lecture that he would definitely have to do this week’s reading for real, not just half-heartedly skim it like usual.  

Marcel shuffled out of the room with the rest of the students, feeling decidedly depressed and trying to pretend he wasn’t.  He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard someone calling his name from down the hallway.

“Marcel?”  

Marcel turned slowly, blinking in surprise. “Louis?”

Louis let out a sheepish chuckle.  “Yeah, um. Are you like, doing anything for lunch?” he asked, tugging on his backpack straps while his eyes darted everywhere but Marcel’s face. Marcel’s own eyes went wide and his heart skipped a beat at the realization that Louis might actually be nervous to be asking.  Louis continued, tentative and quiet.  “I was just like, gonna go to the cafeteria or whatever and I knew — I knew you had a class around here.  I thought, um… you might want to join? Or whatever…”

Marcel swallowed hard, his blood thundering past his ears.  He was stunned, and so twitchy from adrenaline that he couldn’t cobbled together an immediate response.  He just kept staring at Louis, watching him shift his weight from foot to foot and repeatedly brush his hair out of his eyes.  

Time seemed to stretch out between them as Marcel fumbled for words.  It felt like he was part of a slow motion trained wreck when he saw Louis’s face start to fall, hurt coloring his features.  

“Uh, it’s okay if not, “ Louis muttered, staring at the floor and shaking his head subtly.  He’d started angling his body away from Marcel, obviously planning to beat a quick retreat.  “I’ll just like, see you around…”  

“No!” Marcel finally managed, his hands trembling on the notebook he had clutched to his chest.  His pulse was going haywire, his mind in overdrive as he tried to process.  He felt stricken and ashamed that it hadn’t occurred to him at all up to that point, that he’d never really considered that he maybe wasn’t the only vulnerable party when it came to what they’d been doing.  

Louis’s brow furrowed, a little hope returning to his face. “What?”

“Sorry.  Sorry.  I um,” Marcel stammered, smiling shakily. “I do want to come to lunch.  With you,” he finally managed.  “I want that.”

Louis’s answering smile was so bright that Marcel felt like the sun was rising inside his body, and he couldn’t stop the blush of pleasure that spread across his face.

“Okay, hurry up then,” Louis said, nodding toward the commons with the closest cafeteria.  “There are chicken nugs today, I checked the menu.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” Larry

Louis tugged at his collar underneath his choir robe, wishing he’d gone up a neck size on his dress shirt and squinting into the horribly harsh stage lights.  They seemed to be grower harsher by the moment.      

“All of these kids have worked so hard this semester, we’re so proud.  And the whole department wants to say thank you to all the parents out there who helped… “

Mrs. Kiepert, the Orchestra director, was droning on and on about how excited the whole music department was to be putting on a concert that included a piece for full symphony with a choral arrangement this year, and Louis just wanted to get the show on the road already and sing the Hallelujah Chorus so he could get off this fucking stage already.    

_Should have at least had some water._

Louis’d come directly to the school Holiday Concert from swim practice, and he’d barely had time to tie his tie — much less gobble down a snack — before he was herded out onto the risers with the rest of the tenors.  They’d already sung four songs without the orchestra, and the heat was really starting to take its toll.  Louis swayed a little on the spot, drifting into Zayn and then patting him on the shoulder in apology.    

“So, without further ado,” Mrs. Kiepert chirped out to the audience, “this is the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah! Enjoy!”

She turned around, her eyes bright and her spangled blouse even brighter as she raised her arms.  

_Shit.  My knees are locked._

That was the last thing Louis remembered before he was blinking back into consciousness, no longer sure of where he was.  

“It’s my birthday soon,” he whispered, staring up into the concerned face of a vaguely-familiar boy whose brown hair looked like a magnificent, curly helmet.  

The boy let out a small laugh, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Oh yeah?”  

Louis nodded, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure this situation out.  

“Well, happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Louis said, still whispering as more of his sense returned.  He was lying down, he knew that much.  Lying down, cradled in this nice boy’s lap.  “Where am I?”

The boy smiled, soft and gentle.  “You’re at our choir concert,” he explained, brushing some of Louis’s sweat damp hair off his forehead. “You fainted.”

“Fainted…” Louis repeated, smiling somewhat dumbly as the magnificent-helmet-haired boy nodded with him.  

Then he heard Zayn make small scoffing noise from somewhere above him and his blood went cold as he finally became fully aware of his surroundings.  

 _Holy shit.  Holy shit.   Oh my God._ Louis wondered if it was actually possible to catch fire and combust from sheer mortification.  

Helmet-hair boy, who Louis now knew was really Harry Styles, the irritatingly distracting boy from two years below him, seemed to sense his discomfort immediately.  He unbowed his head and spoke directly to Mrs. Kiepert.  “I’m gonna take Louis backstage and get him some water, he’s fine though!  Don’t worry!”

Louis’s scarlet face went darker red when he heard the murmur of relief that ran through the audience.  

 _Oh my God, my mother. My mother! Please.  Please don’t rush the stage.  Please don’t rush the stage._   

Louis’s mother must have understood that this experience was already embarrassing enough, because Harry Styles was able to guide him down the risers and off the stage without any incident.  

“Here, wait,” Harry said, once they’d shuffled back into the band room and Louis was plopped down on a chair.  “I’ve got a water bottle in my backpack.”

“Thanks,” Louis murmured, picking at his nails self-consciously.  He could hear the booming rhythm of the Handel, now underway out on the stage.  

Harry’s mouth twisted into a lopsided smile when he handed Louis the water.  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said, “could happen to anyone.  I fainted at my Aunt’s wedding.”

Louis snorted out a laugh, peering at Harry skeptically out of the side of his eye.  “How old were you?”

 “Four,” Harry said, his whole torso shaking with laughter, too, “best damn flower boy you ever saw!”

Louis giggled, some of his embarrassment eased.  He rolled his eyes at himself.  “Well, I suppose I should thank you for catching me…”

Harry Styles face split into a giant grin, and Louis’s heart skipped a beat.  Louis had always felt Harry looking at him during choir practice, but he’d never been brave enough to look back.

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, his grin going impossibly wider, a twinkle in his eye. “If you wanted my attention so bad, you just had to ask.”

Harry looked almost beside himself with delight when Louis reached out to swat at his arm in protest, his cheeks as red as Louis’s.

“You wish,” Louis said softly.  

Harry was absolutely beaming, his dimples deep when he shrugged and happily conceded the point. “Like, I said.  You just have to ask…”  

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!” and “Come over here and make me.” - Timestamp, Love Is A Rebellious Bird

Harry stood at the edge of the patio, smiling as he watched Louis turn in a circle in the middle of the back garden.  It was very late February, but there were still snowflakes swirling down around them and at least an inch of accumulation already on the ground.

“You like it?” Harry asked, burying his chilled hands in the pockets of his peacoat.  He glanced up at the sky, at the trees, and back at the house itself.  

Louis shrugged, fighting against a smile.  “Bit of a commute.”

Harry shrugged as well, conceding the point.  It was over an hour on the tube from here to the Barbican, but much less of a drive, and they actually had a car now.  

“First floor laundry, though,” Harry pointed out, leaning down to scoop up some snow.  It was heavy and wet — perfect for snowballs.  

Louis raised an eyebrow as soon as he say Harry packing the snow, but he didn’t comment on it right away. “You like it, huh?”

Harry nodded, not looking up from the well-formed sphere he now had in his hands.  He did like this house.  He like the neighborhood, the yard, the hardwood floors, the garage.  He liked the two and a half baths and, most specifically, the number of bedrooms.  

“Do  _you_  like it?”  Harry repeated his earlier question, still sculpting the snow in his hands.  That was the real question.  Louis had rejected more houses that Harry could have ever imagined, going into this process.  

“You better not throw that at me,” Louis said, taking two steps back toward Harry and ignoring his question. “It’s like an ice-block by now.  You could kill me.”

“It’s a snowball!”

Louis shot him a disbelieving look, his eyes flicking between Harry’s face and his hands, “You over packed it.  Now it’s basically a deadly weapon, you should put it down.”

Harry chuckled, squeezing the ball of what was now definitely ice in one hand.  He raised it above his head, giving Louis a taunting smirk and jutting out his chin. “Come over here and make me.”

Louis didn’t need to be prompted twice.  He launched himself across the yard with a surprisingly deep battle cry, knocking Harry over onto his back in the snow and triumphantly yanking the ice out Harry’s hand with minimal effort.  Louis tossed it away immediately.  

“You like this place, Styles?” He whispered, still splayed over top of Harry.  He was essentially straddling Harry now, staring down at him with a face full of endless affection.

Harry nodded, swallowing over a bit of a lump in his throat.  He couldn’t even feel the cold snow on the back of his head.  “Yeah, I do.”

Harry’s heart clenched when he saw the tears crowding up in Louis’s eyes.  Louis had gone still and quiet above him, like he did sometimes when he was truly emotional — too choked up to talk.  

Louis kept smiling down at Harry though, stroking Harry’s hair back from his face for a few minutes, the tears in his eyes never quite spilling over.  “You wanna have some kids with me then, Harold?  

Harry huffed out a laugh, blinking back tears of his own.  “Of course I do.”

“Alright, my beautiful boy,” Louis said, rolling his eyes like it would be such a burden and struggling to get up, “guess we better put in an offer…”  


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet due to Harry's car getting Louis's cat pregnant (or vice versa)

Louis was just finishing up eating an entire bag of salt and vinegar kettle cooked potato chips on an early Tuesday afternoon, when a sharp knock came on his apartment door.  He froze, arm still halfway inside the bag, not wanting to cause any loud crinkling and confirm his presence within for whomever was outside.

Seconds ticked by as Louis waited to see if another knock would come.  He definitely wasn’t expecting anyone, and he was honestly a little worried, his eyes darting around the complete mess of his living room.

_Fuck, what if it’s my landlord…  This better be a fucking mistake…_

A knock came again though, even harder this time, accompanied by a frustrated huffing sound, and Louis’s eyes widened.  It was maybe a little pathetic, but he felt his flight or fight instincts starting to kick in.  He never had unannounced visitors.  

“I know you’re home, okay?” a deep voice bit out from the other side of the door.  Louis’s brows skyrocketed as he attempted to make alarmed eye contact with his completely unconcerned cat, Hector, who was sitting in a pool of sunlight on the window sill.  “I saw you come home like twenty minutes ago and you haven’t left again.”

 _What the fuck._   Louis was fully freaked out now, the hair on the back of his neck at attention.  

“Will you please just come to the door?” The voice pleaded, “Your terrible cat impregnated mine!”

The next thing Louis knew, he was across the room and rapidly unlocking the door, his face set in a preemptive glare when he finally managed to yank it open.  

“Excuse me?” He said, indignant and angry, even as he registered that it was a very good looking man that he was confronting.  A very good looking man in a pink polka dot shirt, holding an incredibly beautiful black cat in the crook of his left arm.  

The man looked equally indignant, his chin tilted up at angle so that his long nose was raised slightly into the air.  He kept stroking his cat’s fur with a large, ridiculously be-ringed hand.

“Your cat,” the man sniffed again, subtly clutching his even closer as continued to talk, “got Stevie pregnant.”

“Stevie?”

The man’s preposterously large green eyes went wide and he started nodding aggressively, moving into Louis’s personal space a little. “Yes! Stevie!” He barked. “She is a girl cat and your dumb boy cat got her pregnant!”

Louis took a defensive step back, pulling the door closed a little more so this deranged stranger, no matter how attractive, couldn’t force his way into Louis’s apartment and murder both him and his cat.  Scruffy, adorable, innocent Hector did not deserve this.

“How is this entirely Hector’s fault?” Louis hissed, his blood pumping with rage. “Why the hell didn’t you get your precious Stevie spayed, if you care about her so much??”

“Well, why didn’t you get your cat neutered?” the man shot back.

“I thought he was!” Louis shouted, forgetting his earlier worries about murder and letting the door fall open all the way as he threw his hands up into the air in frustration. “How on Earth can you be sure it was him anyway?”

“How can you not have known he wasn’t neutered?”  Hector’s accuser looked legitimately confused now, his brow furrowed in a way that Louis definitely found distractingly appealing.  Almost as appealing as it was that the man’s be-ringed hand was now tugging at his plump bottom lip.  

Louis frowned, “Wait,” he said, a series of aggravating moments from the last two months involving cat piss running through his mind, as puzzle pieces fell into place, “do like, neutered cats pee all over the fucking place?”

The man let out a short laugh, rolling his eyes like he couldn’t believe Louis’s lack of cat related knowledge. “Well, neutering doesn’t guarantee they won’t spray, but like.  It usually curtails it at least a little…”

“I inherited the cat, okay!” Louis said hotly, putting an offended hand to his chest, “He was my great uncle’s and I assumed he’d taken care of all that shit and I’m a dog person and I’m doing the best I can!” He gestured toward Stevie, “Even if Hector isn’t fixed, I don’t know how you can be so sure he’s one!  There must be other cats in the neighborhood!  Why are you being so mean?”

The man deflated a little, rubbing at his forehead.  He took a deep breath, scrunching his face up and shaking his head.  Louis leaned against the doorjamb as he waited for him to continue.  

“I went about this the wrong way,” The man said, pulling a face. He extended his free hand for a shake, his beautiful, regal cat still nestled in his other arm. “I’m Harry,” he said, “I live down the hall.  Our cats are in a relationship.  I’ve seen them frolicking together at least six times in the courtyard this month.”

Louis huffed out a laugh, charmed in spite of himself, an actual blush rising to his cheeks when Harry from down the hall started to smile at him in earnest.  

Louis opened his mouth in an attempt to talk, but no words came out.  Harry from down the hall had a really good smile, and Louis was suddenly flustered.  Flustered, and increasingly mortified by the disaster zone of an apartment Harry could see behind him.  

“I still — um,” Louis shifted where he stood, a new spike of irritation running through him at the knowing way Harry was regarding him, as though he’d figured what kind of an effect he was having on Louis.  

“Yeah?” Harry asked, smirking in amusement now.  His eyes had started darting all over Louis’s body, and when he popped a flirtatious hip, Louis’s skin went so hot he almost literally wanted to tug on his collar.  

He took a deep breath instead, trying to calm himself before he went on. “You still haven’t explain why Stevie’s not spayed,” he pointed out.

Harry snuggled Stevie closer to him, burying a hand in the inky black fur at the scruff of her neck.  “I’m a new cat owner, too,” he explained, his lips quirked up in a half smile, “I found Stevie out behind the restaurant I work at a few months ago.  She was so sick and thin, didn’t seem right to have any kind of procedure until she was better…”

Louis nodded in understanding, startling slightly and then smiling when he felt Hector wend his way around his legs.

Harry rolled his eyes again, “I went to the vet today to finally schedule it, and they told me I’d have to wait, she’s already pregnant.”  He smiled down at Hector, earlier animosity gone from his face.  He shrugged, his eyes flicking back up to Louis sheepishly. “I felt like an idiot and I overreacted.  Sorry…”

“That’s okay,” Louis said softly.  He smiled himself, glancing back and forth between the two cats. “Guess we’ll just have to raise some kittens together, huh?”

“I guess so,” Harry whispered back, his eyes soft as he did the same.  

“I’m surprised our cats know each other so intimately,” Louis said, chuckling. “I’ve never even seen you around!”

“Really? I see you all the time!” Harry blurted.  The blush that followed on his cheeks made Louis’s heart skip a beat.  Made him stand up a little straighter, his skin tingling.

“Well,” he said, leaning down to scoop Hector up into his own arms.  He buried his face in Hector’s soft brown fur, to hide his nerves. “Maybe we should have dinner together and, you know, hammer out a custody agreement for the kittens.”

Harry nodded, fighting a smile with a big fat twinkle in his eye.  “Good idea,” he said, rocking Stevie like a baby a little, “it would be a shame if things got contentious after the birth.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcel/Louis, jealousy

Louis stuffed a Dorito into his mouth, long past caring if he was getting cheese powder and chip crumbs all over the white make up he’d so painstakingly applied to his face while putting the finishing touches on his panda bear costume that afternoon.  

“Dang, we’re out of cool ranch?” Niall mumbled, appearing at Louis’s side by the snack table and jostling into him a little, on account of already being more than half-drunk.  

Louis nodded wordlessly, continuing to stare forward at the scene that was unfolding across the room and eating another non-cool ranch Dorito.  

“Marcy’s getting along pretty good with Kaczmar, huh?”  Niall said with a snort, adjusting the suspenders on his Jack Dawson outfit and then elbowing Louis on purpose this time.  

Louis grunted in response, his eyes narrowing in irritation at Niall’s easy amusement over the situation.  

Marcel was indeed getting along like a house on fire with Kyle Kaczmar.  Kyle Kaczmar, who was looking incredibly dashing in his Zorro costume and who Louis didn’t trust further than he could throw him.  

“Zorro’s a good costume,” Niall pointed out, still scarfing chips.  

“Not as good as the Man in Black!” Louis retorted, shooting Niall a look of disgust.  

Niall grinned back as though he’d been expecting the reaction, and Louis scowled, turning so he could glare at Marcel and Kyle again.  Marcel was dressed as the Man in Black from the Princess Bride that night, and he looked ever so long and lean and also like he could sword fight with his right or left hand _and_  outwit a Sicilian if he wanted, and Louis didn’t like the way Kyle was looking at him one bit.  He didn’t like the way Kyle kept touching Marcel’s arm or the way Kyle kept leaning in close and making Marcel laugh.  And he especially didn’t like the way the two of them had taken off their respective masks and swapped them as a way of flirting.  He didn’t like it at all.  

Niall exhaled in amusement again, and he was shaking his head when Louis spare him another glance.  

“What?”

Niall rolled his eyes, his mouth taking on a sardonic twist. “Night not going how you expected?”

Louis’s brow furrowed.  “What? No, I’m fine.”

Niall’s eyebrows raised and he laughed around a Dorito. “If you say so,” he said as he began to drift away, probably wandering off to find Gemma again, the Rose to his Jack.

Louis stared down into his red solo cup, sloshing the remnants of his beer around and trying to process the uncomfortable whirl of emotion inside of him.  Louis could admit it was partially jealousy — he was used to Marcel’s attention, used to a bit of hero worship, really —but Kyle Kaczmar didn’t know Marcel like Louis did, and Marcel certainly didn’t know Kyle like Louis did, and Louis knew this was a bad idea.  It would just end badly for Marcel.  Kyle wasn’t right for him, wasn’t good enough — kind enough.  Louis was sure of it.    

He watched as Marcel honked out another laugh, his eyes sparkling at Kyle as he headed to the kitchen to get them refills on beer.  Louis decided he could no longer stand idly by.

“So you met Marcel, huh?” Louis asked, cornering Kyle by the keg.  

Kyle bobbed his head and smiled as he executed an irritatingly good pour, setting the full cup of beer down on the counter behind him and starting on another. “Yeah, man!  I didn’t know Gemma’s little brother was so cool!” He grinned up at Louis, his eyes glinting as he dropped his voice conspiratorially. “And like, so hot, too!”

Louis scoffed, still sloshing the warm dregs of his beer around in the bottom of his own cup.  “I don’t really think he’s your type, actually.”

Kyle made a face, his attention still on the tap of the keg, but his annoyance with Louis apparent. “How is that any of your business at all?”

Louis ignored him, his palms sweaty as an edgy, nervous irritation coursed through him under his beer buzz. “I mean, like.  I know he seems hot to you or whatever right now, but like — “ Louis coughed into a fist, shaking his head. “Like, He’s not— he’s not really like that…”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Tommo?” Kyle asked, pulling his neck back even further in disbelief. The look on his face had morphing into one of confused disgust as he finished up with the keg. “Do you hear yourself? ‘He’s not really hot’?”

“No—“ Louis shook his head, frustrated with himself for being so terrible at communicating  “I mean—“

Before he could say another word, he saw the muscles in Kyle’s face shift in front of him, sliding into an expression of mild alarm and definite concern.  “Marcel.”  

Louis choked slightly, his heart seizing in his chest as he turned around slowly.

Marcel was standing in the doorway, had been for who knows how long, and Louis cursed under his breath, adrenaline washing fully over him.    

“Marce —“ he tried, but Marcel was staring pointedly past him, obviously working hard to ignore Louis’s presence, his hands shaking slightly as he turned Kyle’s Zorro mask over, again and again.  He was chewing the inside of lip in a way that Louis had seen before.  That he’d seen times when Marcel had felt humiliated by something and was close to tears.  

Louis swallowed hard, a wave of self-loathing closing up his throat.  He was close to tears himself as Kyle brushed past him and out of the kitchen, handing Marcel his beer and asking him if he wanted to play pong in an overly bright voice.  

Louis stood, stunned in the kitchen after they left, barely breathing as he tried to organize his thoughts.

 _Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck_.  

It felt like static had filled up Louis’s brain, the ache in his chest so sharp, he actually had to rub at his sternum.  

 _I have to fix it._ He thought, tossing his cup in the overflowing garbage.  _I have to fix this._

Marcel definitely wasn’t interested in letting Louis fix it, though.  He stay close to Kyle for the rest of the night, through rounds of beer pong and kings cup and even through remix ignition, ignoring Louis the whole time.  By the time Louis saw Kyle kiss Marcel and lead him out the door at 1:30am, it felt like his heart had been replaced by some kind of spiky object, every breath was painful.  

It only got worse after the weekend was over, because Marcel still wasn’t there for Louis to annoy and entertain. Louis had sent about 87 texts and they’d all been ignored.    

He saw Marcel coming out of the engineering building on Tuesday morning and his heart clenched over seeing Marcel back in one of his usual outfits — ugly brown pants and a sweater vest, his hair gelled in place.  It plummeted when Marcel made an immediate right turn out of the building, heading back to his own apartment instead of walking over to the house with Louis and having lunch with him and Gemma like they usually did.  

“Where’s Marcel?” Gemma demanded, when Louis sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for his customary chicken salad sandwich.

Louis opened his mouth, but nothing came out, tears stinging at the back of his eyes.  “I hurt—“ Louis whispered, tucking his chin and swallowing over the shards of glass in his throat.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so ashamed.  Maybe seventh grade, when he’d joined in with everyone making fun of Scottie DeMarco about loving Dragon Ball Z instead of defending him, even though they’d had a sleepover that very weekend and spent hours pretending to be the Z Warriors together. “I hurt his feelings.”

“ _Lou_ ,” Gemma said, clearly concerned.  

Louis twisted his hands together in his lap, fighting the powerful downward tug of his mouth and the tears in his eyes. “He won’t talk to me— I need —  I have to apologize and he won’t talk to me.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed. “What actually happened at the party?”

Louis shook his head. “I fucked up,” he whispered.  

Gemma sat down in the chair next to him, placing a comforting hand on the back of his neck and squeezing.  

“Not a normal fight?”

Louis shook his head, letting out a pained laugh.  He and Gemma had been closer when they were younger, being in the same grade from kindergarten until graduation and then leaving for college together.  But ever since Marcel had joined them at school at the beginning of Louis’s junior year, he and Louis had grown inexorably closer, to the point where Marcel was now undeniably Louis’s best friend.  

“Have you figured out how you feel?” Gemma asked, her eyes gentle even though Louis didn’t deserve it.  

He tensed at the question, despite having asked himself the same thing over and over the past few days.  Louis took a deep breath, the stabby feeling in his throat still plaguing him.  He nodded.  

“Okay,” Gemma said, squeezing his neck again, “I’ll call him.”

Louis’s heart was pounding as he made his way up the stairs to Marcel’s apartment.  He’d agreed to let Louis come over to talk, after speaking with Gemma, and Louis didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous his whole life.  

Of course it was Marcel’s roommate Veronica who opened the door when he knocked.  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, rolling her eyes and heading back to the living room.  She was perpetually unimpressed by Louis. “He’s in his room.”

“Marcy?” Louis said softly, knocking tentatively on his door with a hand on the doorknob.

“Come in.”

Marcel was sitting crossed legged in the middle of his single bed, textbooks and notebooks and handouts splayed out all over the place.  Louis felt something unclench inside of him, just seeing him again.  Seeing his argyle socks and objectively terrible hair.  

His objectively terrible hair that Louis loved.  

“Hey,” Louis whispered, lingering in the doorway.

“Hi,” Marcel tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.  He shut one of his open books, and Louis knew it was just to have something to do with his hands. “You can come in.”

Louis stepped fully inside, easing the door closed behind him and taking a deep breath.  His heart was racing.  He just stared at Marcel, unsure where to begin.  Normally after a disagreement one of them would laugh awkwardly to break the tension, but Marcel’s face looked drawn and tense.  He wasn’t making eye contact, and he definitely wasn’t going to let Louis off the hook.

Louis took a deep breath.  “I’m so sorry, Marcel.”

Marcel started chewing on the inside of his lip again.  

“I was way out of line, and I’m so sorry.  I didn’t meant it how it —“

“I’m really mad at you,” Marcel bit out, cutting Louis off.  He still wasn’t making eye contact, but he seem determined to talk.  To get his point across.  To stand up for himself. “Like, really mad.  You hurt my feelings and I’m really really mad.”

“Okay.  I mean, I deserve —“

“Like,” Marcel took a deep, shaky breath, and Louis wished so badly that he was sitting next to him on the bed with his arm wrapped around him.  “I, um, I get it you aren’t like, attracted to me or whatever,” he let out a pained chuckle, closing his eyes briefly and rolling them when they reopened, “but it’s like.  Um.  Maybe someone else might be? And it’s up to me?  Like even if you think I can’t handle —“

“I was jealous!”  Louis blurted, unable to bear it anymore.  

Marcel’s eyes finally snapped up to meet his, surprise clear on his face.

“I was so fucking jealous, Marcy, you must have known!” Louis went on. He took another deep breath, the full weight of his realized feelings settling right over his solar plexus.  “When I said you weren’t like, hot, I meant like.  I meant like, Kyle wouldn’t appreciate you fully because he doesn’t know you like I do… It was awful what I said, I know.  I didn’t mean at all that you aren’t good enough.  I just meant.  I meant…”    

Marcel was blinking at him rapidly, the fan of his gorgeous eyelashes brushing against the lenses of his glasses.  

“I’m,” Louis rolled his eyes, standing up to his full height and making sure he was looking right at Marcel, “I’m in love with you,” he said.  Marcel’s eyes went even bigger, his jaw dropping ever so slightly, but Louis plowed on, “I know I’ve been an idiot about it.  But I really.  I think you’re amazing all the time.  Always.  Everything about you…  I want your attention.  I want  _you_.”

Marcel kept blinking, silent.

“I’m so sorry.” 

Marcel let out a disbelieving snort of a laugh, and Louis’s heart lurched, his skin crawling with vulnerability.

“I really am sorry,” he whispered again, even though he knew he should stop.  He knew he should probably just leave.

“ _Lou_ ,” Marcel said, chiding slightly.

“What?”

Marcel laughed again, unfolding his long body and slipping off his bed, his soft socks sliding over the hardwood floors.  He stopped directly in front of Louis and reached out with a ridiculously large hand, cupping the side of Louis’s face. 

Louis sucked in a jagged breath, shivering at the contact as he knees turned to jelly.  Marcel’s other hand moved to the small of his back, as though he’d sensed that Louis’s legs had gone weak.  He smiled wide, dimple deep.  “I’ve had a crush on you since I was 12, you moron.”

Louis’s breath caught, relief surging though him as he let his body collapse fully against Marcel’s.  

“I’m gonna kiss you,” Marcel whispered, nosing along the line of Louis’s neck.

Louis shuddered, his nervous system sparking out of control.  “Then do it.  Do it.”

“Okay, I will.”

Marcel lifted Louis chin and pressed their lips together, soft and sweet, and Louis whimpered involuntarily, perfectly happy for that exact moment.    


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> falling asleep on the couch together. Larry

Louis let out a soft, involuntary sound when he twitched awake, smacking his lips a little as he came to in the dark.  His eyes felt sleep-swollen and dry, and he squeezed them shut as quickly as they fluttered open, taking a long breath before he reached an arm out to unsuccessfully fumble around on the coffee table for his phone.

“Shit,” he whispered, letting his hand flop back down onto his chest.   _Shit._   

Louis didn’t know what time it was, but he knew it was late — well after midnight, but not closed to dawn.  Maybe 2:00 or 3:00, given the complete lack of light behind his eyelids.  Everything was quiet, too, so still that he could hear the persistent ticking of the watch on his wrist and the hum of the refrigerator coming from the kitchen.  

“Harry,” Louis said softly, jostling his shoulder slightly under Harry’s head.  They’d fallen asleep in the living room together again, and Harry’s long body was sandwiched between Louis’s and the back of the couch.  He was plastered right up against Louis, really, making Louis sweaty-hot on one side and just a little too cold on the other, since there wasn’t a blanket.  “Harry, wake up.”

Harry only moaned in protest in his sleep, pressing even closer, and Louis huffed out a laugh, frowning at that bittersweet rush that followed after.  

 _Shit._      

Louis  kind of hated falling asleep on the couch instead of getting up to go to bed, to begin with.  He always got this strange sort of guilt when it happened — like whenever he napped for too long on Saturday afternoons — a lingering sense that he’d overindulged himself somehow, was lazy and aimless underneath it all.  He’d always trudge around his apartment afterward, full of self-pity and sadness, missing his mother.

Missing home.  

That’s why it was even worse when it happened with Harry.  So very close, but not close enough.  Not the way Louis really wanted.  This was the third time this month they’d drifted off watching  _Criminal Minds_ , and Louis cursed himself internally as he opened his eyes and shifted to nudge Harry again, trying wake him up so they could both head off to their respective rooms where they could sleep for real.  And where Louis could wallow in his pathetic longing and guilt all alone.    

“Harry!” he said more sharply, shoving at Harry’s shoulder with his hand now.  

“Hmmm?” Harry murmured, face still pushed into the meat of Louis’s bicep, his lips vibrating against Louis’s bare skin.  

Louis’s chest ached.  Harry was barely illuminated, the blue glow coming off the router box that sat next to the television the only light in the room, but Louis’s heart clenched and then soften at the sight of him anyway.  Rounded cheeks and endless eyelashes and sleep matted curls.  Beautiful.    

_Get over it.  Just let it go._

_“_ It’s time for bed,” Louis said, barely stopping himself from running a hand through Harry’s hair, “we fell asleep.”

Harry slumped toward him in response, slinging a heavy arm across Louis’s torso and sending a thrill through him in the process.  “No more Crimsy Minds?” he asked.  

Louis chuckled, helplessly endeared. “No more Crimsy,” he said, “just sleep.”

Harry nodded his head against Louis arm, eyes still shut.  He tightened his grip around Louis.  “Want —“ he yawned, big and slow like a lion, his tongue lolling, “want to sleep with you…”

Louis let out another involuntary noise, this one pained and alarmingly high-pitched.  He flushed at his reaction, sitting up quickly and shifting away to hide his embarrassment.  Shifting away until suddenly he’d cast Harry completely off and was on his feet. “Um.”  

Harry was squinting up at him, blinking rapidly in confusion.  

 _Fuck._   

Louis could usually handle this.  Well, outwardly anyway.  But at that moment it felt like too much.   Like he just couldn’t anymore.  Not tonight.  As though his heart would break in half if he and Harry slept side by side in bed, and he had to lie there missing Harry even though he was mere inches away.  

He watched Harry fully wake up, peering at Louis as his confusion melted into hurt and worry.  “What’s wrong?” Harry croaked, moving to sit up so that his ridiculous feet were planted on the floor on either side of Louis’s, his fingers reaching out for the hem of Louis’s t-shirt.

“Nothing,” Louis lied, shying away from the touch slightly, “I’m just.  You know.  Tired.”  He gave a fake laugh. “It’s late, so.  I’m tired.”  

“Tired,” Harry repeated slowly, dropping his head, “Oh.  okay…”  

Harry sat for a few seconds, nodding, seemingly to himself, and there was something about the downturned twist to his mouth that tugged at Louis, cracked him open.  

 “Harry?”

When Harry lifted his head again Louis almost choked, stunned at the emotion he saw mirrored back at him.  “Har — “ he tried, swallowing hard over the lump in his throat.  He was absolutely lit up with hope, nerves misfiring all over the place.  “ _Harry_.”

Harry made a small noise of his own and grabbed Louis’s left hand with both of his, drawing it to his chest.  “I want — “ Harry’s lips curled into a heart-stopping and sheepish half-smile as he blinked up at Louis in the dark. “Let’s go to bed.”  


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Harry are getting ready for a wedding. But they both look so good, they end up not ready for the wedding.

“How much time between the ceremony and the reception?” Harry asked.    

“I dunno,” Louis said.  It came out sharper than he’d intended, but he was trying to concentrate on opening the door to their hotel room, and Harry was bouncing on the balls of his feet right next to him, full of the same antsy energy he had been for weeks.  It was making Louis uneasy.  

“Did you bring the invite?” Harry asked, following Louis into the room a touch too close behind.  

“No,” Louis said, tone still too sharp.  He winced internally, dropping his bag and quickly hanging his suit in the doorless closet before pretending to investigate the bathroom so he didn’t have to see any hurt on Harry’s face. “Did you?”    

 Harry only snorted in response, and Louis could hear him shucking off his shoes and fumbling around to hang up his own suit.  He’d flopped onto one of the double beds by the time Louis shuffled back out into the room, long and lean and up on his elbows as he slow-blinked at Louis and chewed on the inside of his lip.

“Well, go on that website, then,” Louis said, ordering himself to ignore what an utter picture Harry made, all spread out on the ugly olive drab hotel comforter like he was on display.  

Lately, it almost seemed like Harry was trying to provoke him, sometimes.  Like somehow, after all these years, he’d finally figured out how Louis felt, and was trying to goad him into acting on it with his body and his eyes and his utter lack of regard for Louis’s personal space.  

Louis felt like he was slowly losing his mind.      

“What website?” Harry asked.  He had flipped onto his stomach now, fiddling with his phone like he was about to bring it up.      

“What do you — you know what website! That one everyone uses when they get married!  The fucking knot or whatever,” Louis said, rolling his eyes and glancing at his watch. He definitely knew when the shuttle to the church was leaving, he’d at least memorized that, and they only had about twenty-five minutes.  “You know what, it doesn’t even matter.  Someone else will obviously know…”    

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, heaving himself up off the bed, presumably to start getting ready himself.  “Liam’ll know.”  

Louis nodded absently, staring at his suit bag while he had a minor internal debate about whether to get dressed in the bathroom or not.  Harry would probably think he was being a weirdo if he did, but then he wouldn’t have to suffer through the phantom feeling of Harry’s eyes on him, wouldn’t have to struggle not to peek over Harry, either.      

“You gonna do your hair?” Harry asked, pulling Louis from his reverie.  

Louis’s face screwed up in annoyance. “What’s wrong with my hair?” He snapped.

“Nothing,” Harry whispered, chastened, his head ducked, “I didn’t mean — I was just asking…”

Louis leaned over and grabbed his suit, stalking into the bathroom without responding.  He leaned heavily back against the door and barely kept his deep sigh from turning into a groan.  

_Fuck._

It had become apparent, as of late, that his reaction to feeling further and further hemmed in by Harry was to be an absolute ass to him, and the worst part was, Harry wasn’t calling him on it.  He was just letting Louis repeatedly and illogically overreact — barking and snapping and making no sense at all.  After nearly four years of wonderfully contentious friendship, Harry had suddenly gone uncharacteristically meek, and Louis didn’t know how to handle it.  

He changed into his suit with quick, efficient movements, despite how cramped the bathroom was, spurred on by his irritation, but mostly his guilt, which he could never seem to outrun.  He could never seemed to be able to outrun his heartache over Harry, really, couldn’t give up the last lingering bit of hope that someday, maybe…  

 _The hope._   He thought, shrugging on his suit jacket and getting it settled on his shoulders, his stomach in knots.   _That’s the whole problem.  It’s not his fucking fault.  Just let it go.  Let it go._   

They were staying in one of those better-designed hotel rooms where the sink and vanity are located outside the bathroom, so Louis didn’t really have any kind of excuse to be lingering in there after he was fully dressed.  

“Just be — be nice again,” Louis whispered, giving himself a little pep talk as he straighten out his tie one last time and reached for the handle.  “You can do that.  Just be nice and let it be fun… how hard can that be?”      

“Ready to —“ he was barely even fully out of the bathroom when he caught sight of Harry, his half formed question dying on his lips.  

As much as Louis had been tormented by the sheer force of Harry’s physical charisma lately, it suddenly felt like he hadn’t actually truly looked at him in weeks.  Not really.  Not at all.  

Harry was standing about five feet away in an absolutely impeccable suit, his dark, curly hair brushing his shoulders and framing his lovely face.  He was always handsome, but right now he was utterly, completely beautiful — so aesthetically pleasing that Louis couldn’t have stopped staring if he tried.    

“You— ” Louis began, shaking his head in disbelief and swallowing hard, stunned stupid.  

Harry was fidgeting slightly, eyes downcast like he was a little embarrassed to have Louis looking at him, studying him this way. Harry wasn’t conceited, but he’d always been a little bit vain — fully aware of how attractive he was — and the realization that he was nervous about Louis’s reaction to his appearance — that he’d put in extra effort — hit Louis like punch to the gut, emotion closing up his throat.  Normally, Louis would have resorted to over the top teasing to mask his actual feelings in a situation like this, but he fought that instinct down, knowing that he needed to be sincere.  Know that  _Harry_  needed him to be sincere, this time.  

“You look  _so_  nice, Harry,” he said softly, the naked affection in his voice setting his face on fire.  

Harry coughed into a fist, flushing and fussing with his hair.  “Thanks,” he rasped out, voice even deeper than usual. He lifted his head to give Louis a sheepish half-smile, and Louis felt it like an electric jolt right to his heart.

He was so hyper-alert his skin hurt from it — pulse pounding and nerves raw — and he drew closer and closer to Harry, helpless to stop himself.   “Hey,” he whispered gently, when he was about a foot away, and the thrilled laugh that clawed its way out of Harry’s throat when their eyes met had joy fully exploding in Louis’s heart.  

“You look— you, um…” Harry started, another nervous huff of laughter escaping him, his breath stuttering and his voice trailing off when Louis reached out to finger his lapel.  

Louis watched with something akin to wonder as his own shaking hand moved up Harry’s body, settling at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, his thumb brushing over the soft skin above Harry’s collar.  Harry’s eyes drifted shut and Louis almost gasped when he ducked his head, nuzzling into Louis’s touch and encouraging Louis to cup his jaw.

“Yeah?” He asked, leaning in and upward.  

Harry nodded, still moving into Louis’s touch, his eyes dark as they narrowed in on Louis’s lips.  “Yeah.”  

They ended up missing the ceremony, but made it to the reception with plenty of time to spare.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> getting caught out in the rain together, Larry

“Louis,” Harry mumbled.  He wrapped his arms around his shivering body, too cold to wipe away the icy drips of rain that kept running down the slope of his nose.  “Lou.”    

Louis stood several feet away, twisting a small bore auger into the soil beneath a sodden patch of vegetation.  If he’d heard Harry at all, he gave no indication.  

“Louis, come on!” Harry said, more forcefully this time, pushing the words out past his chattering teeth.  It had been sunny blue skies and unseasonably warm when Louis had initially roped him into coming along on this soil-sample gathering trip, three hours before, so Harry was woefully underdressed for frigid drizzle in his useless windbreaker.  He just wanted to go home, already.

He’d been wanting to leave for going on half an hour now — and had repeatedly said so — but Louis showed absolutely no signs of slowing down — still collecting sample after sample and muttering under his breath about silt and sand.  Harry sighed deeply, looking at the woods that surrounded them as he tried to quell his rising frustration.  All of the colors felt muted by the heavy gloom of the gray sky except the newly spring green of the forrest floor, and it might have been beautiful under other circumstances, but Harry was pissed off.

 _I didn’t even want to come in the first place!_ He thought, darkly, hugging himself even more tightly against the chill _.  He always fucking does this.  He never fucking listens._

 _“_ Louis, I’m fucking freezing and I’m going to fucking go,” Harry announced, marching toward him and grabbing for the sample satchel to root around for the car keys.  His fingers were so cold they felt like ice lumps as he pawed through the side pockets, but at least his anger was keeping his core hot, momentarily.  

Louis whirled around, dropping the auger and looking wildly alarmed.  “What are you doing?”  

The heat inside Harry flared up further at Louis’s indignation — apparently he didn’t want any of his precious, previously collected samples getting wet, even though he was actively collecting more of them in the middle of the god damn rain!  Harry glared at Louis and gave him a pointed raise of his eyebrows, triumphantly holding up the keys that he’d finally fished out of the bag.  “I am going to go home, now.  Because I don’t want hypothermia.”

“Wait, what?” Louis pushed at the wet hair that had fallen into his eyes with a mud-streaked hand.  He opened his mouth to speak, but Harry turned on his heel before he could say anything more, stalking toward the trailhead where their car was parked.

“Just wait in the car!” Louis finally got out, after a series of squawking protest noises. “Just five minutes, I promise!  I’ll be five minutes behind!”  

Harry shot him a disbelieving look over his shoulder as he continued up the trail, his socks and sneakers sloshing in the wet gravel.  Normally, Harry would just wait — he would sit in the car with his feet up on the dashboard by the heating vent, frowning while he did so, and then sulk part of the way home — but he would wait.  This time, it all felt far too familiar.  Like it was just going to keep happening for the rest of their lives, and it was just too much.  “Five minutes will turn into twenty!”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Harold?” Louis demanded in a shout, throwing his arms into the air.  “It’s like three miles home! You’re going to make me walk in the rain?”

Harry turned around again, so righteously angry that he was unable to resist engaging.  “What are you — are you even hearing yourself? I’ve just been standing in the rain for forty five fucking minutes and I’m freezing my ass off!”  

“Why didn’t you say? I just need five more minutes!”

“Well, you don’t have it!” Harry snapped, turning to head up the trail again, “The dirt will be here tomorrow!”

He could only just hear Louis swearing and packing up his stuff over plinking patter of the rain, but he refused to look back to make sure he was coming, keeping his stride long and quick as he made his way out of the woods.  It only took about five minutes before he was making he final turn on the trail, their Subaru visible in the distance.  

Seeing the car up ahead only made Harry feel more and more frantic to finally be inside it, and he broke into a run for the last fifteen yards, yanking the door open with trembling hands and clambering inside as quickly as he could.

He’d just barely closed door behind him and turned the engine over, heat blasting and arms akimbo to check that all the vents were open and functional, when Louis appeared in the passenger side window, wild eyed and pounding on the glass. “Lemme in!”

“Okay! Fuck. Hold on!” Harry said, scrambling for the automatic lock button and getting it wrong about three times before he got it right.  

Louis heaved himself into the car, shoving his bag into the backseat and then settling in with his arms crossed over his chest.  He was shivering just as hard as Harry, and he leaned forward to fuss with the heat dials himself.

“It’s all the way up,” Harry sniped in irritation, staring down at his bloodless hands on the steering wheel so he didn’t have to see Louis’s eye roll.  

They sat in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the rush of tepid air coming out of the vents and the drumming of the rain on the car.  

“Well?” Louis said, finally, after the heat had actually, truly kicked in. “Are we gonna go or what?”

Harry just rolled his eyes and put the car in gear, pulling off the gravel of the shoulder and out onto the road.  

“Oh, the silent treatment, huh?” Louis said, fussing with his seat belt.  “How mature…”

Harry gripped the steering wheel more firmly, clenching his jaw shut so as not to give Louis so much as an outraged scoff.  

“Unbelievable,” Louis muttered, leaning as far away from Harry as possible and looking out his window.  

 _Unbelievable?_    Harry had to bite down on the inside of his cheek this time so he didn’t take the bait.  He concentrated on his windshield wipers instead, switching to an unnecessarily rapid setting as though the rhythmic sound of their sweep across the glass would somehow beat all of his feelings back into place.  

They made it home in a matter of minutes, Harry easing the car into the detached garage and closing the door behind them.  He took a deep breath, sitting very still and keeping his hand on the keys in the ignition even after he’d turned the car off. Despite being soaking wet, he wasn’t quite ready to go inside yet.  He was so frustrated he was afraid he was going to start crying as soon as they started to try to work things out.  

Louis made no move to get out of the car, either.  He was fidgeting though, shifting side to side and opening and closing his mouth like he was trying to figure out what to say.  “Harry.”

Harry swallowed hard, staring forward through his reflection in the windshield.  There was barely any light in the garage because of the rain, and it made it feel much later in the day than it really was.  Late evening, like it was already time for bed.  “I’m tired,” Harry whispered.  

A strangled sound punched out of Louis, so sharply that Harry almost startled, and he turned quickly to look at him, huddled against the door with his seatbelt still on.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Louis pointed out, over enunciated and defensive and sad all at once.

Harry thunked his head back against his headrest, letting out a long sigh as guilt threaded its way through his anger, leaving him more frustrated than ever.  “That’s not the point!”

“Okay, well…” Louis said, drawing the words out, long and careful and edging on sarcastic, like he always did when his feelings were hurt, “what is the point?”

It was Harry’s turn to fish mouth now, trying to sort out his thought so he knew what to say.  He hated it when Louis’s feelings were hurt, but his feelings were hurt too.  “It’s — I like.  I want to come with you,” Harry began, rubbing at his forehead with a thumb, “I want to spend time with you.  But then like.  I also want you to pay some kind of attention to me while I’m there…”

“It’s not just a walk in the woods!  I’m there for —”

“I know that!” Harry snapped, letting out another short sigh. “I know you’re working.”

Louis sat in silence, staring at the glove compartment.  His feet were all tucked up under him, and Harry tried not to soften at the sight of him — small and bedraggled and wet.  

“I tried to get your attention so many times!” Harry explained, exasperated.  “It is horrible out! And you barely responded.”

Louis grunted, then blinked.  “I’m sorry,” he finally mumbled, barely audible with no eye contact whatsoever.

It was such a classic Louis apology that Harry let out a small laugh in response.  

Louis huffed this time, puffing himself up and turning to get Harry a pointed look.  “I’m really am sorry, okay?” He averted his eyes again.  “I like — I’m sorry I drag you along all the time,” Harry wasn’t quite sure in the dim lighting, but he thought Louis might have blushed, “I like how it, uh.  I like how it feels when you’re there…”

Harry let out another laugh, pleased this time.  

“I’ll do better, next time,” Louis said, reaching for Harry’s hand where it was still settled on the keys. “I’ll — I’ll check in.”

Harry smiled down at their intertwined hands.  “Sorry for being dramatic.”

It was Louis’s turn to laugh, the full-bodied affection of it echoing in the cab of the car.  “It’s okay,” he said, squeezing Harry’s fingers, and gesturing to his soaking clothes with his other hands, “you were totally right.  It was horrible out.”

Harry squirmed in his seat, suddenly unbearably uncomfortable in his itchy, wet clothes.  He shot Louis a lopsided grin.  “You maybe wanna pay attention to me in the shower, now?” He asked.

Louis let out another throaty laugh, tossing his head back and making Harry light up inside.  “I would love that, Harold.”  

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things you said when you thought I was asleep. Tomlinshaw

Louis woke up when they got back to town, the stopping and starting of city driving gradually tugging him from sleep.  He kept his eyes closed, though, all curled up and surprisingly comfortable in the passenger seat.    

“Oh lovely, thank you for letting me know you were turning!  Thanks so much,” He heard Nick grumble under his breath as he stepped on the brake, drumming his fingers lightly against the wheel in annoyance, “Just excellent driving by you…”

Louis barely suppressed a snort, curling further toward the window to hide his smile so Nick wouldn’t realize he was awake.  

Nick huffed again, giving an audible shake of his head.  “Op, oh, okay. Nope! That’s fine.  By all means, go right ahead…”

Louis’s shoulders shook twice with repressed laughter, fondness welling up inside him.  Even though he couldn’t see Nick, he knew he’d just made a pointed little show of putting his indicator on, as if to demonstrate proper technique to all the other, less-good drivers out there, anywhere in the universe. 

“Almost home,” Nick hummed to himself as he took a left, “Almost home…”  

Louis gave a long sigh, a little wave of contentment washing over him.  He opened his eyes so he could peer up out of the window and watch the trees on their street go by in the dark.  It was nice, that Nick liked to drive.  It was nice that Louis didn’t always have to, anymore.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Concert. Larry.

Harry snuck into the auditorium after the lights have already gone down, letting out a long sigh of relief when he realized the concert hadn’t quite started yet, even though the children were already lined up on the risers on stage.  He slotted himself in with the other latecomers standing along the back wall, unwinding his scarf from around his neck and letting his i’m-gonna-be-so-fucking-late adrenaline drain out of his body. **  
**

“Don’t worry,” the man to his left whispered, his eyes crinkling up at the corners when Harry turned his head, “you’re basically right on time.” The man nodded toward the choir director up on stage. “Mr. Janis always likes to give a very thorough introduction to the year’s music.”

Harry huffed out a soft laugh, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and trying not to sneak another sideways glance.  The man next to him was attractive – very attractive – his flawless cheekbones thrown into sharp relief by the light leaking in from the hall.    

 _He’s probably a parent.  A very married parent._  Harry chastised himself, balling up his fists inside his pockets and making sure to pick out his niece, Evelyn, from amongst the sea of faces before the singing began.  

“Our journey this year has been…” Mr. Janis paused, placing a hand over his heart as though overcome by some serious emotion, “beautiful… magical… wonderful…”

Harry smiled at the ground when he heard the man next to him snort and then whisper the next few words along with the choir director, mimicking the sweeping arm motion that accompanied them. “And we’re so glad to get you share it with all of you…”

Cheekbones kept Harry entertained for most the concert, making very quiet, but snarky asides about Mr. Janis and his entirely too predictable program choices – “he alllllways does carol of the bells” –  and biased solo distribution system – “oh wow, another one of the good-looking teens, who could have predicted!”.  What got Harry the most, though, were the sheepish half-smiles they shared when they made eye contact during the gorgeous, multi-layered arrangement of Silent Night and realized they were both teared up.  

Harry’s heart flipped over in his chest when the lights came on after the final bows, and it turn out Mr. Attractive was even more attractive than he’d even realized, his bright blue eyes smiling up at Harry as people filed out of the auditorium around them.

“I’m Louis,” he said, extending a hand.  

Harry swallowed and took it, hoping his palm wasn’t too sweaty.  “Harry.”

“You got a kid up there?” Louis asked.  

“Yeah – sort of.  I mean, well, no – yes,“ Harry blushed, watching Louis’s eyes crinkle up again, amusement clear on his beautiful face. “A niece,” he coughed into hand, “my niece.”

Louis smiled.  “What a good uncle.”

Harry shrugged, rolling his eyes at himself. “Barely made it on time. “

“But you made it…” Louis pointed out, still smiling.

They stood together in silence for a few beats, and Harry’s heartbeat accelerated every time Louis shifted his weight.  

 _He’s gonna leave._    _You are too awkward.  He’s gonna leave!_  Harry’s mind was going a mile a minute, but he couldn’t seem to find a single thing to say.  _Questions.  Questions.  Ask him questions._   

“Why are you here?” he demanded, his eyes going wide with horror as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Louis just burst out laughing, putting a comforting hand on Harry’s forearm in response.  “I work here,” he said, his smile turning into a grin, “and I went here.  And my siblings go here.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.  “I practically live here.  That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “Okay.”

“Yeah,” Louis said, laughing, his body was curved toward Harry’s in open flirtation.  “You wanna get some punch before the kids come out and drink it all?”

Harry nodded, flushing like he’d just been asked on a date.  

“Great,” Louis beamed, like Harry had just agreed to one.  

They kept sneaking glances at each other as they wended their way through the crowd, and Harry only came back down to Earth when they got to the refreshments table and he remembered why his sister hadn’t already accosted him.  She was serving punch.     

“Well, well, well,” Gemma said, her eyes sparkling and flicking back and forth between Harry and Louis.  “I see you met Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Yep,” Louis said, proudly, “Yes, he did!”


End file.
